Compulsory Honesty
by movinggirl
Summary: So, Professor, if I'm being honest, this is the dumbest project I've ever been assigned. I'm trying not to judge you on it, but I'm failing, meaning right now I think you're mad, and this is the one of the worst ideas anyone has had this school year. Except Dumbledore's idea to make Potter Head Boy. Yours is almost as bad. Almost.
1. Do Not Read

**I have no idea what I'm doing here. Seriously. I haven't published on here in like two years. Finals season is upon me. Does anyone even read James/Lily fan fiction anymore? Does anyone even follow me on fan fiction anymore? **

**And yet.**

**This idea has been stuck in my head for the longest freaking time and I've written a nice part of this story-in bits and pieces-and I figured I was never gonna finish it til I have someone else reading it and telling me to hurry up and finish it, so hopefully one person sticks with this story. If not, I'll become the kind of person that motivates themselves I guess. **

**This story is rated T for language and I guess inappropriateness? Teen stuff. Nothing bad really. This basic premise was inspired by the book "Absolutely Normal Chaos" I read hundreds of years ago. This is the prologue and since it's basically nonsense I'll post the first chapter with it. Also, this is something soooo different than Summer Magic, mostly because this is during the school year and also because SM chapters were 5k words each and these are like 10k. Whoops.**

**Follow/review if you want! (I forgot I have to ask for those)**

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><p>Dear Professor Malek,<p>

Here it is: my heart. Not my actual heart, of course, but these journals contain everything my heart contains. I did what you've asked, and I've written about my weaknesses, my fears, my loves, my dreams, and my secrets. On these pages, I bragged and whined, ponder and denied, reflected and ignored. I've come to realizations about myself, others, life, love, good, and evil. Even though I had first doubted I would, I learned things about myself I'm not sure I would have otherwise discovered. The point is, I did the project. That's why you shouldn't read it.

I'm not joking. Please don't read this! Just from looking at what, exactly, I'm turning in should be enough to tell you that I did the project. I took this assignment seriously (eventually). If I didn't, would I have really used all these books writing rubbish?

So, now that you know I did the assignment, and that it did lead to an intensive look at my heart, you can just shove these journals to the side and give me my O.

Seriously. Don't read these! I really did do it, I promise! It's just that… At some point, I began writing more than necessary. I began writing more than you asked about things I would never show or tell anyone, let alone my bloody professor! I guess I just got carried away. But how was I supposed to know this year would turn out the way they did? How was I supposed to know Mary and Diana and every other barking student in the school would act like that? How was I supposed to know what the Slytherins would do? How was I supposed to know about the mess my family and James's family and everyone else in the world would get into? How was I supposed to know that James Potter and I would…? The point is, how was I supposed to know? I didn't intend to get this deep into my life, and I'm sure you don't want to hear any of it! Truly, you don't. Knowing this much about my life and me will only harm you, Professor.

That's why you should just stop here. _Do not read my journals! _I mean it.

With all due respect,

Lily Evans

(Stop reading!)


	2. This Will Be Fun

**The underlined parts are supposed to be strikethroughs, but whatever. Also, I'll work on less crappy chapter titles. And shoutout to for reviewing already and for asking about the format of the story. It's all gonna be Lily's diary! But as you'll see, there's potential for other diaries to be read.**

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><p>September 2, 1977<p>

Dear Diary,

Dear Professor,

Professor Malek,

Hullo. My name is Lily Evans. I am a Muggleborn at Hogwarts. I am a seventh year Gryffindor, as well the Head Girl. My favorite class is Charms, and I find this to be utterly ridiculous.

I'm sorry, Professor, but how in the world is one supposed to perform this assignment? I can't "open my heart" to my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor whom I met only once, and I don't even know how one begins this type of thing. Except… Well, you did say to be honest.

So, Professor Malek, if I'm being honest, this is the dumbest project I've ever been assigned. I'm trying not to judge you on it, but I'm failing, meaning right now I think you're mad, and this is the one of the worst ideas anyone has had this school year. Except Dumbledore's idea to make Potter Head Boy. Yours is almost as bad. Almost.

I suppose I should start at the beginning.

It was one of those slow, draining kinds of days. I had about three weeks left of my summer holiday, and I was lying in the grass in my backyard reading, feeling hot and sticky, but too lazy to get up and do anything about it. I was torn between wanting to stay in that moment forever, sweat dripping down my neck with grass prickling my arms, and wanting to speed up time, to fast forward to a point where things were fun and exciting.

Dad was inside—doing what, I don't know. He had said he needed to work, but that usually meant he would grab a handful of papers and pens to throw on the couch beside him while he watched whatever program was on the television set. Petunia, my older sister, was out with one of her friends. I think it was Harriet that time, but I would have no way of truly knowing because my sister and I communicate as little as possible.

There's a garden in our yard, if you can call it that anymore. It's a square patch of brown lined against our picket white fence with bursts of used-to-be-colorful flowers in six rows. It was my mum's project before she died (my mum is dead, Professor), taking care of that garden, and she was always trying to get her flowers to grow bigger, taller, and brighter. She had always wanted to find new flowers to add to her garden, too. Not regular flowers, though, like roses and daisies. No, she wanted exotic ones. Mum said, "What's the purpose of trying to keep this garden flourishing when all the neighbors have one just like it? Uniqueness never hurt anyone." Petunia would just scoff.

While I am at school, Petunia and Dad pay enough attention to the garden to keep the flowers alive, but in the summertime, the garden is my responsibility. It's still only a fraction of what Mum's garden was, but it's still there. The sweltering heat of this summer made maintaining it early impossible. I was debating whether I wanted to buy new flowers, extravagant ones that Mum would like, when I heard screeches. I assumed they belonged to my owl, Terry, and never mind the reason she was screeching, because she would eventually close her beak. Except she didn't. Her screeches kept coming. And coming. And coming.

I closed my eyes and tried to will her to be quiet, but no such luck. Only when a second screeching joined Terry's to create an atrocious owl choir did I somehow manage to pull the giant lump that is my body off the ground and inside my house.

I passed my dad in the living room, and he was oblivious to the noise, bless his heart.

I walked into my room and—surprise, surprise—there were two owls waiting for me, neither one looking happy. When I saw the unfamiliar, large black owl holding a letter with the Hogwarts' crest on the front, I glared at Terry.

"He's just an owl from Hogwarts bringing my school list, Terry. It's not like he's carrying something _bad_."

That, Professor, is irony at its finest.

I took the envelope from the owl and gave him one of Terry's treats. Terry hooted in a way that sounded as if she was angry with me for doing said act, and the strange owl clucked his beak almost gloatingly. Either birds are more talented than I thought, or I was going mad.

Have you ever gotten a feeling in your heart, Professor Malek, that tells you something big is about to happen, and even though there is absolutely no reasoning behind that feeling, you believe it without a doubt? Well, I got that feeling as I held my letter from Hogwarts in my hand. My heart was beating as fast as a train and got the irrational urge to sit on my bed. (I did.)

Like every year, the envelope slid open easily. Unlike five of the past six years, it was heavy.

Impersonating a little kid at Christmas, I ripped open the envelope, and a moment later, resting in my palm, was a shiny silver badge branded with the Hogwarts crest. Two solid letters were inscribed on the badge: H.G.

H.G. H.G. means Head Girl._ I_ am _Head Girl_!

"Yes!" I screamed. I hopped up on my bed, clutching my badge and letter to my chest. The aged springs of my bed squeaked as I jumped up and down saying, "I'm Head Girl! I'm Head Girl!"

I lunged off my bed with a _THUD_, and sprinted out of my room and down the stairs. "Dad, Dad, Dad!"

"Lily? Oof!" In my eagerness to tell him my news and his concern to know why I was screaming, we collided in the hall, but I practically bounced off, my newfound achievement acting as a bubble-like shield.

"Dad! I'm Head Girl! Me! Head Girl!"

Dad's entire face broke into a smile. His brown eyes lit up and even the stubble on his chin seemed to stand more joyously. Or maybe I just thought so because, suddenly and irrationally, everything seemed more wonderful and worth celebrating. My entire body was buzzing with excitement. "Congratulations, Lily! I knew you would get it!" He wrapped me up in one of his pretend-to-hate-them-but-secretly-love-them hugs that make you feel like a little kid due to his huge frame.

"Thanks, Dad," I said. I huffed my breath to try to move some strands of hair out of my face, but it was useless. "Can you hold these?" I handed my letter and badge to my dad, and took my hair out of its ponytail. "Ever since Emmeline Mordrake tutored me in Transfiguration second year, being Head Girl was always a dream of mine. When I was a Prefect in fifth year, I thought, 'You know, maybe I could really become Head Girl,' then I thought I totally blew it, and then last year, I still _really_ wanted to be Head Girl," I rambled as I wrapped my tie around my hair twice, "but I began to think I _couldn't_. People were saying all of this stuff, and I don't believe one bit of what they say—it's all rubbish—but a lot of people take into consideration what they say. Blood should have absolutely nothing to do with who are Head Boy and Girl, because Head Boy and Girl should be hardworking, kind, caring, brave leaders. Not that I'm saying that I'm the epitome of that! But I do think—"

"Who's James Potter?" Dad asked, looking at my Head Girl letter I assumed was from Dumbledore, considering I hadn't actually read it yet.

"Potter? Prat in my year. Why?"

"He's Head Boy."

I laughed. "Good one, Dad. But really, who's Head Boy? I think Edward Brinley from Ravenclaw would be a decent choice. His brother, Damien, was Head Boy my fourth year at Hogwarts, and he was pretty good."

Dad just stared at me, an eyebrow raised.

"Sorry!" I exclaimed, weakly laughing. "I'm just happy!"

Dad chuckled and said, "Me too, Lily, but it's not Edward. It's James Potter."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Dad, he's not Head Boy. He wasn't even a Prefect." Potter couldn't be Head Boy. There was just no way. He was probably the definition of someone who shouldn't be Head Boy. The bloke and his mates got into more trouble than the rest of the kids in our year combined. Head Boys don't get in trouble.

I took the letter from my dad and quickly scanned it.

_Congratulations, Miss Evans!...huge responsibility…I feel that you will perform admirably…All the professors and I believe that you…You and Hogwarts' new Head Boy, James Potter…_

Head Boy, James Potter. James Potter, Head Boy.

My esophagus felt as if it had closed up, and my previously lightweight limbs were now full of lead. "This is—this is a joke, right?" I croaked.

"I don't see how it could be," Dad said. "Is it hard to believe James Potter is Head Boy?"

I weakly laughed. "Yes, Dad. It is _very_ difficult to believe James Potter became Head Boy without everyone who had a hand in appointing him Head Boy going completely mad." I leaned against the wall, feeling as if I needed extra support to remain standing.

"Why," Dad said, incredulous, "what could possibly be wrong with James Potter?"

What could be wrong with James Potter? What an easy question. I could have gone on for ages. In fact, I have gone on for ages! I've had six years to know just exactly what is wrong with Potter, and I summed it all up in one word.

"Everything."

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><p>Dad took Petunia and I out to dinner to celebrate at Sorrento's, an Italian restaurant a few blocks from his car sales lot. To put it plainly, dinner was painful. The only way I can describe it is to say it was similar to when I was working with two Slytherins and two Hufflepuffs on a two-week long Ancient Runes project. The Slytherin boys sat there, silent and repulsed, while the Hufflepuffs animatedly chattered like a pair of bloody parakeets. At first, I had simply been there, mouth agape, eyes disbelieving, that my luck would actually get me into a situation like that. After only one week of that, though, I wanted to personally hex off my own ears. I've never been able to bring myself to like Professor Radford after that.<p>

At dinner, Dad was the Hufflepuff. He kept trying to make conversation, asking Petunia questions about her friends and her plans, but there wasn't much to discuss since we had talked about the same topics the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Petunia was the Slytherin. She did not want to be there. When Dad had told her we were going to Sorrento's, she was cheerful. When he told her to celebrate my becoming Head Girl of Hogwarts, her mood plummeted faster than the number of supporters of the Chudley Cannons. I will admit: I was also a Slytherin at dinner. I sort of tried, though. I saw my dad try to make conversation with Petunia and me, and when it failed spectacularly, he gulped down his water and then fiddled with his wedding band. My heart broke when I saw that, so I said, "What game were you watching today, Dad? Do you think we'll do well this year?"

That did the trick, and talk of sports lasted throughout our spaghetti dinners. However, I am ashamed to say that I did very little listening. My mind was on constant repeat, focused solely on Potter and his Head Boy status.

How? How could Potter have gotten Head Boy? It makes no sense. James Potter is the boy who hangs kids upside down by their ankles, never completes his work, and frequently wrecks havoc upon the Hogwarts body. Or…he used to.

Professor, I'm going to give you a brief history on the body of destruction known as James Potter.

James Potter was once a skinny, arrogant little boy simply trying to find his place in Hogwarts. He began a rivalry with Slytherin Severus Snape (my ex-best friend), as well as a friendship with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew (fellow Gryffindors). In our first year, he teased Snape with Black, and that was about as bad as it got. I like to call this the Honeymoon Period. Like with everything, though, the Honeymoon period ended—and fast.

Something changed with the four Gryffindor second years. They were closer, more mischievous, and more rebellious. Pranks started happening, and at first, the professors expected it to be some of the older students—fifth and sixth years. After all, what second years would manage to charm the knights to trip only the Slytherins that walked by? Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew would, that's who. Unfortunately, people liked them. When we were allowed to go on Hogsmeade trips, people only paid the blokes more attention. Half of the time they spent the days with themselves, but the other half they took girls, which for some barmy reason made girls like them more. (Don't ask—I don't understand.) Potter and Black are—unfortunately—mildly attractive, talented, and witty, and eventually they (along with Remus and Pettigrew) just became the definition of cool. Their heads got larger than the Hogwarts castle itself. Potter was Quidditch captain by our fourth year and ruffled his hair, and, God, he was a bully. He teased so many kids, I was surprised they hadn't banded together and started a revolution.

Severus was my best friend and Potter and his friends—or the Marauders, as the weird nicknames led to—hated him. They frequently dueled and about sixty percent of Potter's detentions those five years revolved around Snape. Potter and I argued more and more, especially our fifth year. We yelled. We bantered. Half the time Potter seemed amused, the other half he looked as if he seriously wanted to hex me. (I was the latter all of the time.) Potter and I had the worst relationship in the entire school. Even worse than the erratic relationship between Melanie Whitaker and William Quincy, which is five out of six times the new gossip topic. It was almost as if we couldn't be in the room for more than an hour without a disagreement erupting. At the end of the year, though, right after our D.A.D.A. O.W.L., everything changed. There was an…incident centered around Potter, and, ultimately, I cut Severus out of my life, and Potter was dead to me.

Potter became mildly more tolerable over that summer, and he was the same, but less so. Less egotistical, less of a bully. and his friends still pulled pranks, threw Quidditch victory parties, and messed with the Slytherins. We even only had one screaming match that year. It was as good as life was ever going to get with Potter around.

But do you see, Professor, what the problem is? Potter is Head Boy! The most prestigious student position in all of Hogwarts and it was given to a self-proclaimed Marauder. Even worse, I am his partner. I thought about everything that we would have to do together: rounds, meetings, reports, schedules, organizing clubs and Hogsmeade trips. Potter and I would have to spend time together. The most abhorrent human being and I are companions.

I waited for Potter's letter. Surely, he would have gotten his congratulatory letter at the same time as I did, so where was his bragging letter? Where was the letter that told me I would surely fall in love with him now that we would be working together? Where was it?

One week passed.

I went to Diagon Alley to get new books, supplies, and robes. I continued to work the phones at Dad's lot.

No letter.

Another week flew by.

Packed and repacked trunk. Bonded with Dad. Faked it with Petunia. Went back to Diagon Alley to go shopping with Diana. Visited Mary. Wrote to Eileen.

No letter.

August 31.

No. Damn. Letter.

(Am I allowed to swear, Professor? Oh well, I will. Not too often, promise.)

I decided it was time to stop fooling around. I needed to strategize. Potter was going to invade and ruin my Head Girl territory, and I would have none of that. I went to bed with a fully formulated plan for the next day, smirking in my sleep and thinking that Potter would have no idea what he got himself into.

September 1 finally arrived. Dad came with me to Platform 9 ¾ this year again, and we arrived late—again. Dad is late to everything. Mum used to say she was the one waiting for him at the altar.

After we ran through the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten, I realized just how late we were. Usually, there are a number of students loitering on the platform when we arrive, but this time I saw a couple students finishing their goodbyes, and not a single cart stacked with trunks and owl cages. The clock said 10:57. Well, bollocks.

"We are so late," I mumbled.

"Sorry, pumpkin," Dad said.

I pushed my cart to the closest door and heaved my trunk and Terry's cage onto the train. I opened the first compartment, which contained a gaggle of what looked like second years. "Can I leave my stuff here for just one second?" I asked. They nodded, most of their eyes wide. Honestly. I don't look that scary.

Hopefully.

"Give me a hug and you'll be on your way, yeah?" Dad said when I walked back off the train. He opened his arms up as wide as he could.

It happened when I went back to school for my fifth and sixth year, and it happened again then. Whenever I'm hugging my dad goodbye, I feel as if someone is squeezing my lungs, making it hard to breathe. My feet are glued to the floor, and the very last thing I want to do is get on that train and leave my dad.

_Think about all the things waiting for you this year_, I thought to myself as I smelled the clean scent of my dad's shirt. _It'll be a good year._

Only when I heard the train whistle blow do I let go of him. "Bye, Dad," I said as I quickly made my way to the closing door.

My dad smiled at me. "Make sure to write!" he said.

"Every day," I promised, although we both know it will be more like every other week. As I watched the doors close and the parents wave, the train began to slowly glide away. I retrieved my belongings and walked down the hall to find my friends.

What I wasn't hoping to find was one of the blokes in my year. Correction: What I wasn't hoping to slam into was one of the blokes in my year.

A tall boy swiftly walked out of the compartment I was just about to pass, muttering, "Wankers." He turned to walk down the hall, and as my luck would have it, he ran directly into me. Full-on collision on the first day of school? Check.

"Oh, bugger! Sorry, I was—Evans?"

I looked up from where I was on the floor, having tripped over my trunk in an effort to keep hold of my owl's cage. It was Potter. So far that day, I was having some bad luck, and not one bit of it surprised me. Not one bit.

"Evans, sorry, I didn't see you there. Sirius was saying—Well, never mind. Here, let me—" He extended his hand towards me.

I ignored it and picked myself up off the ground. I glared at him while I did so, but then I remembered my plan.

"Are you all right?" Potter asked. He picked up my trunk for me.

I nodded.

"Congratulations on becoming Head Girl," Potter said. "It's not a surprise you got it, considering you're—"

Oh, Merlin. I did not want to hear another one of his meaningless compliments.

"Potter," I said sharply, "I expect you to be in the Prefects' carriage in exactly ten minutes. I hope you have at least thought about what you hope to accomplish as Head Boy, as well as a fraction of an idea of what you would like to say to the Prefects. If you have not, which I expect from you, I made a list of everything we need to cover." I took my trunk from Potter's hand. "See you in ten minutes." I curtly nodded and began to walk down the hall, head held high.

Courteous and professional with a clear goal of communicating with him as little as possible. _Well done, Lily, truly_, I thought. _You just might make it through the year alongside Potter._

"Actually," Potter said from behind me, "I was hoping we could meet a few minutes earlier, since I've never been to a Prefects meeting. Maybe you can teach me your ways." He smirked. "And I can add what I want, too."

My mouth hung open for a few moments, but then I quickly regained composure. Fine, if he's going to pretend like he actually cares about this, I'll pretend that I actually believe him.

"Right. Meet in the Prefects' carriage in five minutes then." Before he could utter another word, I quickly made my way down the hall in search of the same carriage Eileen Turpine, Mary MacDonald, Diana Lockheed, and I have been sitting in since second year. (They're my roommates. Jane Wildswith is our fifth, but she doesn't sit with us.)

"Bloody hell," I said when I entered the compartment a few minutes later. "When will this nightmare that is today end?"

"Lily!" shrieked Eileen. She jumped up and knocked her body into mine. I hugged her back and smiled at Diana and Mary, who also stood at my appearance.

"Hi, Eileen." I held her back and looked her up and down, pretending to evaluate her. She struck a pose. "You look good," I said. "I see a summer in Greece treated you well."

Eileen winked. "Very well. But you! You look stunning! What'd you do over the summer?"

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop my laugh. She always says that, and nothing is ever different about me. Or stunning. "Unless you think a few extra freckles are sexy, then I am exactly the same."

"You, my dear, are always sexy," she said with a grin. Before I could object, she said, "Have you seen Evelyn? She wrote to me and said she has something big to tell me."

"No, I haven't, but she usually sits at the very front of the train, doesn't she?"

"No surprise that you're right. I'll see you guys later!"

As Eileen left, Dianna said, "Make sure to tell us her secret later!" Eileen just laughed. There was no way she would tell us what Evelyn said. One of the reasons everyone likes Eileen is because she's so above the gossip of Hogwarts, and when someone tells her something, that secret is locked up tighter than the deepest vaults of Gringotts. When people confide in her, it's because they want her advice or her reaction. She's genuinely happy for people when something good happens to them and devastated when something tragic occurs. Not only is she actually one of those authentically happy, friendly people, but she even _looks_ like one of those happy, friendly people! She's got shiny brown hair and a wide smile that says, "I love you. Let's be friends." Not to mention, her face is covered with freckles. On me, I hate freckles. I have a few on my nose and cheeks, but they're random, and not attractive. On Eileen, they're like a million beauty spots. You'll be waiting for the day, Professor, when she turns human like the rest of us, with flaws and all, but trust me, it's not coming.

The door slid shut and Diana, Mary, and I looked at each other.

"Well…," I said.

"I missed you two!" Diana wrapped an arm each around my neck and Mary's, pulling us in for a hug. Mary gagged a little at Diana's grasp, but she didn't say anything. We stood there for a moment, arms around each other, and then Diana pushed us away. "All right, enough mushiness for today. Mary was just saying that—"

"You look fit, Diana," I said. "Still keeping up that diet?" When we went to Diagon Alley, she refused to eat ice cream with me at Florean's, which made me look like a total pig eating a large ice cream with three different toppings all by myself. Didn't stop me, of course.

"I lost nearly six and a half kilos over the holiday," Diana said proudly. I looked her up and down. I could tell—she looked good. It made me want another ice cream.

"Now all you have to worry about are the never-ending Hogwarts feasts."

"That'll be as easy as Caroline Klent."

I laughed; Mary snorted. Caroline Klent… what a girl.

"So why's today a nightmare?" Mary asked me as we sat down.

"Potter committed serious moral misdemeanors to convince the professors to appoint him Head Boy, and I can't bear to leave in five minutes to meet the partner who probably won't even blink at the thought of abandoning all ethics." I began to rifle through my trunk to find my robes and badge.

"Now?" Diana made a pouty face.

"You just got here!" Mary exclaimed.

"I know, but apparently Potter wants to talk strategy before the meeting." I rolled my eyes again.

Pause.

"Sorry, I must have heard incorrectly," said Mary, rubbing her ears. "It sounded like you said Potter cares about something other than his mates, Quidditch, and girls."

"He's pretending to care about this," I corrected, trying to pin my badge on my robes without pricking myself.

Diana scoffed. I turned to look at her. "What was that?"

"What?" She examined the ends of a section of her long blonde hair. "All I'm saying is maybe he does want to be a good Head Boy."

I stared at her. Potter wants to be a good Head Boy? Sure, I suppose it's _possible_, but there would have to be an ulterior motive. "How about I nod my head and pretend like that makes sense, and then afterwards I can tell you all about how he goofed off the whole meeting?"

Diana shrugged her shoulders. "Go right ahead, Head Girl. I look forward to saying I told you so."

"I look forward to you never saying that," I replied. "I'll see you guys later. Can one of you get me some chocolate frogs when the trolley stops by?"

Diana and Mary simultaneously nodded. As I walked out the door, Diana whispered, "She's in so much trouble."

"I heard that!" I hollered.

As I walked down the hall, list in my pocket, I thought about what Diana said. I couldn't believe that she basically told me I was wrong, Potter _is_ a good person. I'm sorry, but where has she been the past six years? Did she miss all the tricks, jokes, arguments, and bullying sessions Potter caused? Because I sure didn't. She was there by the lake that day in fifth year! She saw what he's like! A person like that cannot be a good Head Boy. Period.

So what Dumbledore was thinking the day he decided to appoint Potter Head Boy, I will never understand. I'm tempted to march up to Dumbledore, grab him by his beard and demand to know what on earth could posses him to choose Potter. The only problem is that I think Dumbledore's a brilliant mad man, and I'm kind of frightened of him, so grabbing scary brilliantly mad men by their facial hair probably isn't the brightest idea.

I walked into the Prefect's compartment with the expectation of finding it empty, but I was surprised. Again. Potter was sitting at the head of the table, a scrap of parchment in front of him. A shimmer of blue sparks shot out of his wand underneath the table, and I saw that he was tapping his wand against his right knee. His head was bent, eyes scanning the parchment.

"Hello, Potter," I said. I sat in a chair on the other side of the table, not a chair intended for the Head Girl, but it put an adequate amount of distance between us.

"Evans." He nodded.

There was an awkward silence.

I cleared my throat. "Care to begin? The Prefects will be here in a few minutes."

Potter looked down at his parchment, then back at me. He smiled. "Ladies first."

I held in my huff and pulled out my own paper. "We should just stick to the very basics for now. No one likes these meetings to last long. We can discuss clubs and Quidditch and things like that at the next meeting." Without waiting for a potential comment, I began to read down the list, outlining what we needed to cover during the meeting.

"…We'll then finish off with patrols and curfew, clarifying what exactly constitutes breaking curfew and the punishment, things like that." I looked up at Potter. "Anything you'd like to add?"

Potter was intently looking at me, but when I focused my gaze on him, he glanced back down to his own parchment. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy black hair. "Er…points?"

"Sorry?"

"The system of House Points? Did you mention that?"

I stared at him.

"I just thought," he said almost forcefully, "that since there are new Prefects, we should explain to them how Prefects can control points. There's usually some confusion about it at the beginning of the year. In fifth year, Snape thought he could take points from us, but Remus said he couldn't take any from Remus because he was a Prefect as well, and there was a huge row about it because no one really knew."

"Yes, well, I mentioned the points system right after…" I scanned my own list. I didn't see the points system written anywhere. I searched it again, and then a third time. Bollocks. I hadn't written down that we needed to explain the power Prefects had regarding points. Potter was…_right_.

For a brief moment, I considered lying, saying that it was perfectly positioned between patrols and the Prefects' bathroom, but he would know. Potter's not stupid; he knew I hadn't said it, and he was correcting me.

"You're right," I said, though it felt as if the words physically pained me. "I left it out. Thank you." I scribbled it off in the corner and drew an arrow to where it should have been written.

"The Head Boy's got to do something, right?" He grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "I'll cover everything this meeting, okay?" And the next. And the next. And the next…

Potter shrugged and then returned to tapping his wand against his knee. Thankfully, the first of the Prefects chose to walk in at that moment. I stood up and welcomed everyone that entered the carriage and gestured for them to sit. I was suddenly very nervous. But why should I be nervous? I had sat in on this type of meeting twice before. I knew how the Head Girl was supposed to act. I was on good terms with almost all of the Prefects, so there wasn't anything to sweat about.

Except I was. Sweating, that is. The compartment suddenly felt much too full and the air got harder to breathe in. I eyed Potter chatting with Remus, who had snagged the seat on Potter's right. If only I had a competent Head Boy… then it wouldn't be all depending on me. No one would care if Potter screwed up being Head Boy. It was probably expected, but he was on such a high pedestal for so many other things that failing at this one thing wouldn't even bother him or anyone else. I tried not to think of what it would be like if I failed as I made my way to the seat on Potter's left—the Head Girl's. I began twisting my index finger around the gold chain of my necklace. It's a rotten habit I do when I get nervous or irritated, something I'm sure Mum didn't intend when she bought the jewelry for me.

Once everyone was seated, I stood up. I smiled at all of the Prefects, who peered up at me for one second before turning their attention to Potter. I looked down to my right to see Potter not only seated, but completely oblivious to the meeting, choosing instead to animatedly describe something to Remus. I glared at him, hoping he could feel the beams of hate I was shooting at his ridiculous hair. It was only when a few seconds later, after Remus noticed the silence and stifled giggles, did he nudge Potter, who then turned to look at me.

I coldly raised an eyebrow at him. "Care to join us?" I muttered.

"Sorry, Evans," he said easily, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He grinned at the girl Gryffindor fifth year on the other side of the table.

I turned away from him. I didn't need him as a partner. I could do just fine without him. "Hello, everyone," I said, "and welcome back to another year at Hogwarts. To our new Prefects, congratulations. To our returning Prefects, it's good to see you." I don't need Potter to help me succeed. Despite what my pounding heart thought, I was perfectly capable of conducting the meeting all on my own.

And I did. It went smoothly enough, too. Sure, I may have stumbled over a few of my words, and granted, not all of the girls listened since two of them chose to stare at Potter instead. I managed to glance at Severus only the minimal amount to pass as normal, and yes, his fixed stare on me was unnerving, but I ignored him. I covered everything I was supposed to, even the House Points system, and Potter kept quiet, which itself was a success.

"That's it for now," I said at the end of the meeting. "We'll have another meeting in the next few days, but until then, go patrol, and make sure to set a good example. After all…" After all what? "Prefect is like perfect, just with the letters rearranged!"

Jim Crintiff, a sixth year Ravenclaw, visibly cringed. _Why? Why would I say that?_ That wasn't funny. _I'm_ not even funny! That's something my dad would say, and he's really not funny! I "slid" my paper off the table and onto the floor so that I would have a reason to duck out of sight for a moment. Prefect is like perfect? Really? _Guess what? Prefect is like perfect! And card is like car with a 'd'! _I slapped my hand against my forehead. That was bad. Some people actually looked embarrassed for me. I don't blame them. Why would I say that? My sad attempts at humor never work out.

_Deep breath, Lily. It wasn't that bad._ I was just about to stand up when I heard Potter say, "Try not to embarrass me while you're out there! I've worked hard for this position!"

The Prefects within hearing range all laughed. "We'll try, Potter," said a male's voice. One girl cooed, "Wouldn't dream of it, James."

I ripped my list in half. Potter didn't do a single bloody thing the whole meeting, but as soon as he makes a joke referring to the ludicrousness that is his title of Head Boy, everyone would start talking. They'd talk about how Potter was oh-so-funny while Lily Evans told everyone Prefect is spelled like perfect, how he sat there during the meeting looking attractive while Lily Evans had beads of sweat on her forehead, how Potter could really do anything since he, troublemaker extraordinaire, managed to become Head Boy.

My dignity seemed to have run away, because I stayed on the floor until all but two of the voices were gone. Don't judge me, Professor. My paper was difficult to locate.

Slowly, I emerged. Chocolate frogs. All I had to do was leave the cabin and then I could drown my sorrows in the wonder that is chocolate frogs. It was just Potter and Remus talking about something Potter's mother had said to him, and they would be easy to avoid. Well, Remus would. I gathered the halves of my list and began to stride out the compartment when I noticed someone waiting outside of the door. The head was covered with long black hair, slightly greasy, and I knew exactly who was standing in the hall. I froze in my tracks.

Severus Snape and I used to be best mates, Professor Malek. He lives in the not-so-nice part of our Muggle neighborhood, and he was actually the one who first told me about Hogwarts, magic, and everything else. We stopped being friends in fifth year, though. He had changed into a person I did not want to associate myself with, and we both knew we were just fooling ourselves trying to think we could still be friends considering…well, considering. Usually, we ignored each other, but every once in a while Severus would make a futile attempt at reconciling our friendship. And I would let him.

"Hey, Evans," Potter said, and I turned to look at him, slightly grateful at the excuse of putting off my exit, "good job today. I definitely didn't know Prefect could be rearranged to perfect."

My cheeks pooled with color and I suddenly felt very hot. How dare he! He hadn't done a single thing, yet there he was, mocking me at my stupid mistake. He just couldn't wait, could he? He couldn't wait to infuriate me.

"Thank you, Potter," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "You also did well at… I'm sorry? Did you do anything? Or are you as sorry of an excuse as a Head Boy in addition to a Gryffindor?"

Potter spluttered, and his face turned a bright red. Good. It wasn't true, but it got him mad. In all honesty, Potter is probably a pretty good definition of a Gryffindor, but I know how much he values his living up to Godric Gryffindor's standards, and desperate times call for desperate measures. "How was your summer, Remus?" I asked, blatantly ignoring Potter.

The boy in question looked pale as usual, and he had a few scars on his face, but he looked well. His light brown hair was longer. It fit him. He had glared at Potter when he had made that remark, so I'm glad to know that Remus also understands the inanity that is Potter. He smiled and said, "Good, and yours?"

"Very nice, thank you for asking. Now, excuse me, but I'm on my way to my compartment. A nap would be nice. Preparing everything on my own was so exhausting." I faked a yawn. "Proper Heads work hard, though, so I don't really mind."

Remus smirked. "Really."

"Yes, really." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Potter look up the ceiling and mouth, 'Unbelievable.' Even better. "See you later, Remus. Potter."

As I was leaving, Potter said, "It's good that we talked about the points, don't you think, Remus? Leaving that out surely would have confused everyone, and probably would've damaged the reputations of all the Prefects!"

My back stiffened. _Did he just say…?_ I kept walking, head held high. Potter was not worth it.

"Lily," someone said as soon as I exited the compartment.

I shrieked and jumped back, forgetting that Severus had been waiting for me. At the sight of the familiar black eyes, I relaxed. "Oh, sorry, you scared me, Sev…Severus, you scared me, Severus." I cringed inside. I hate it when I slipup like that.

"Sorry, Lily," he said. His eyes brightened when I called him the name only I called him when we were friends. "How was your summer?"

"Fine," I said tersely. I did not want to be talking to him. I tried to step around Severus, but he made to follow me, and I stopped. I didn't want to give him any reason to accompany me.

"I saw you at the grocer's with your dad one day. He looked well."

"Mmm." I saw him, too, but I made Dad check out as soon as I saw him, even though we didn't have everything on the list.

"What were you doing there?"

I stopped and turned to look at the Slytherin. "Getting food. My family and I tend to like to eat."

Severus's eyebrows met in the middle. He would have laughed before, but that was before. Before everything had changed.

"Congratulations on getting Head Girl," he said, obviously trying to change tactics.

"Thank you."

"I'm glad you—"

"Look, Severus," I said, cutting him off, already dreading what I knew I was going to say, "nothing has changed. At least, nothing has changed that would allow us to become friends again. Unless, you've…" I trailed off. He knew what I was going to say.

Since I've already written this nonsense down, I might as well explain what really happened. The reason Severus and I split was that he was traveling deeper and deeper into the Dark Arts with his Slytherin cronies, and I wanted nothing to do with it. I had been pushing him to make a choice, and on that day by the lake, he did.

I might as well tell you the story—"write about my heartbreak."

We had just taken our written Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. A majority of people headed out to the lake afterwards, as it was a gorgeous day. Mary and I needed some extra practice for our Transfiguration O.W.L., which was next, so we asked Marlene McKinnon, a Hufflepuff, to quiz us. She is the top girl in our year in that subject, and she is always willing to help others, never bragging. (To be honest, most people don't really understand how good she is in school. Sometimes we're too prejudiced to be able to comprehend that a Hufflepuff could be the best academically.) Marlene, Mary, Diana, and I ended up sitting by the lake and gossiping, but after a few minutes, my mood completely changed as I saw Potter and Black messing with Severus.

I had stormed over there, fuming. Severus was frozen on the ground with pink bubbles oozing from his mouth. "Leave him ALONE!"

Potter's hand had shot up to his jet-black hair. "All right, Evans?" he said smoothly like the hundreds of times he had said it before.

I ignored his question, instead telling him, "Leave him alone. What's he done to you?" There wasn't a right answer to that question, and I knew that, as I witnessed the rivalry of Potter and Black between Severus probably more than anyone else.

"Well, it's more the fact that he _exists_, if you know what I mean…"

The other students who had gathered for their show snickered, because everything that comes out of Potter's mouth is just so. Bloody. Funny.

"You think you're funny," I had said, my anger rising. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him _alone_." I probably shouldn't have targeted his character. It was nothing unusual, though, and I was already feeling irrationally miffed with Potter due to an argument Severus and I had gotten into just the day before.

"I will if you got out with me," Potter said without missing a beat. "Go on… Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

I was surprised that he had asked me out. Sometimes he implied I was secretly in love with him, but he never put himself out there like that. Hiding my surprise was easy, though. Refuting Potter in any way, shape, or form was second nature at that point.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid."

"Bad luck, Prongs," Black said, and I remembered that everyone else was there. "OY!" He whipped back around to Severus, who had regained movement and pointed his wand at Potter. A cut on Potter's face appeared, not fatal, but deep enough that blood splattered. I was shocked that Severus would react that way, but before I could think more of it, he was upside down exposing his skinny legs and underpants.

I almost laughed, only because I felt that he deserved that after the way he had been acting lately. Almost, but didn't. I should have.

"Let him down!" I tried again.

"Certainly." Potter let Snape fall to the floor only to allow Black to say, "_Petrificus Totalus_."

If I wasn't upset before, I was then. The crowd was still there, only growing, never shrinking, and all I wanted was for Potter and Black to conjure up some decency and leave Severus alone so that I could go back to my friends. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I whipped out my wand and pointed it at Black and Potter. Enough was enough.

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," Potter said as if his puppy dog face would make me drop my wand.

"Take the curse off him, then!"

Potter did, making a show of his reluctance. "There you go," he said, "you're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—"

Severus didn't let him finish, though. "I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her."

I felt like someone had poured a bucket of water on my head. And there it was. Yet again, one moment, one decision ended something. One word, an utterance of a sound, ended my relationship with Severus. "Fine," I said, struggling to remember how to breathe. "I won't bother in the future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, _Snivellus_." It was as low as I could have currently gone, yet it was still not enough.

I began to walk off, but Potter rounded on Severus, again, and took the opportunity to bully him and impress me, again. He ordered Severus to apologize, and I exploded. _How dare he act as if he were any better than Severus? How dare he try to raise himself in my eyes by making Severus out to be the bad bloke? _I thought. I shouted at Potter, "I don't want you to make him apologize. You're as bad as he is…"

"What?" Now Potter looked like he had been slapped. "I'd NEVER call you a—you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can—I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK." I had screamed to cover the hurt in my voice, but then I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran off after that.

Potter had called after me, but he did not follow. Fortunately.

Really, I expected Potter to be a git. It's his nature. A git is a git, no surprises or pretending. Severus, though…that wasn't just being a git. And that wasn't supposed to come from him. Not Sev, my best friend, the one who always stuck by my side. It wasn't supposed to be him.

I got a bad case of denial. I blamed it all on Potter, and I considered forgiving Severus. When the time came, though, as he stood outside the Fat Lady's portrait to beg for forgiveness, I knew in my heart, somewhere deep in my stupid, pitiful heart, that we weren't working anymore. He chose one way, I chose mine, and I could never accept his decision. Eventually, I took Potter out of the equation. I couldn't stand him and what he did, but he didn't make Severus say that.

"I…" Severus trailed off in the hall of the train, his eyes searching my face. I wondered for a fleeting moment if he was going to say, _Yes, yes it changed._

"Severus! Are you done?" a voice said from behind me. I turned to look and saw the burly figure that is known as Corvus Mulciber, a Slytherin in our year and a bastard if you've ever met one. I've always disliked him, but when he performed some nasty magic on Mary in fifth year, a deep hatred formed for him. (Severus defended Mulciber when I brought up the topic. Another strike on the never-ending list.) When he saw me looking at him, his entire facial expression changed. His girlishly thin eyebrows rose up in surprise, but then his whole face twisted into a sneer. "Do you mind moving, Mudblood? A dirty person like you really shouldn't be getting in the way of superior students."

My mouth dropped open. Sure, Mulciber is an arse, and he's never once tried to hide his blood prejudice, but he's never been so blunt about my blood status in front of me before, especially when there was really no reason for it.

Mulciber made a pouty face. "Oh, I'm sorry, did no one tell you that you don't belong here with us wizards?"

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, and while my mind was definitely not blank, I didn't speak. Son of a bitch. How I wanted to strike him across the face. I turned back to Severus. His face had an expression I've seen on it before: an expression that said he was torn, he didn't know what to do. He was torn between siding with the bloke that hated and bullied people like me or defending me, his once best friend. "Severus…?" I couldn't help it. I had asked if anything changed. Did it?

I saw my reflection in his black eyes, and they were full of some emotion, but then they turned flat. My shoulders slumped. There was my answer.

"Come on, Snape," Mulciber said. "She's not worth ridiculing at this point. She'll realize the truth soon enough."

"Mulciber." Potter stepped out of the compartment with Remus. He looked at me for a few seconds, his eyes asking a question, but I just looked back to Mulciber. Potter easily concluded what I didn't want to tell him. "Can't say I'm glad to see you," Potter said. "I enjoyed the holidays where I didn't have to see your brutish face every day, but I guess I've gotten used to looking at a rhino's backside after all these years."

Mulciber whipped out his wand, directing it at Potter. In an instant, Remus and I had ours out as well. Severus stepped forward, his wand pointed at Potter. Potter didn't pull his wand out. He just smiled at Mulciber. "I heard you talking to Evans earlier, so I think I'll take…twenty points from Slytherin?" He looked to Remus as if asking him.

"Ten points for every remark would be good," Remus said, his voice easygoing but his eyes flashing. Mulciber's jaw dropped.

"Right, so forty points from Slytherin, gentlemen. Looks like you guys aren't off to a very good start this year. No worries. No one's ever expected anything good to come from Slytherin before, though."

"You can't take points, Potter!"

I must admit that this might've been the first time I really appreciated Potter's arrogant smirk. It was so wonderfully confident, certainty radiating off it, that I wondered if he practiced it so that it would be so amazing in situations like these. "Oh, but I can, Mulciber. See, I'm Head Boy." He pointed to the badge on his robes. "That means that the only people higher than me are the professors and Dumbledore. So if you want to discuss this with Dumbledore when we return to the school…" He shrugged, as if he didn't care. "Or we could go see Slughorn. Explain what you said to his favorite student."

It's true—I probably am Professor Slughorn's favorite student. Potions is my best subject, and I'm one of his favorites. Repeating to Slughorn what Mulciber said to me would probably be worse for him than losing forty points. Mulciber seemed to realize this, and his face turned to pure anger, but he lowered his wand.

"When you're done, Severus," he said in a tone that said he better be done now, "we're in _this_ compartment." He pointed to the door he was standing in front of, and then walked off in the other direction. Severus paused and hastily walked towards me.

"We don't have to change everything else for us to be friends, Lily. We don't have to act like we're opposites with no chance to be friends."

"Except we are, Severus. To prove it, you've even chosen your side, and I've chosen mine. There's no point."

"Just because I'm friends with blokes who think—"

"Don't act like it's just your friends who think those things."

Before Severus could even attempt to deny it (which I know he would have tried to do), Potter said, "You can go now, Snape."

Severus glared at Potter with a deep hatred, but he walked down the hall and into his compartment, not sparing me another glance. Normally, I would've been mad at Potter for chasing Severus away, but I had gotten my answer, and I didn't want him around a second longer.

"Nice to see Mulciber got more pleasant this year," said Remus.

Potter snorted. "Good change of pace, right?" He shook his head. "He was acting different, though. He doesn't seem to care now if everyone knows just how racist of a berk he is."

"Wonder why," I muttered. Potter and Remus looked at me as if they had forgotten I was there.

"You all right, Evans?" Potter asked. I nodded and waited for his attack on Severus, but it didn't come. Instead, he said, "Merlin, I hate them all," almost as if he wished he didn't.

We were silent for a moment. "Well, thank you," I said. I looked at Potter for a moment, but I felt that I couldn't look at his face for very long—it was a mixture of concern and caution and other things I couldn't place. I felt that if I looked at him any longer, I would snap at him and start another row, and even my thick self knew you didn't yell at someone who just helped you. I directed my gaze to Remus. I smiled at him. He gave me a half-smile back. "I will, er, see you two back at school," I said before walking down the hall.

Mary and Diana were furious when I told them about Mulciber when I returned. Diana started ranting about how much she hated him and what we should do to get him back and how she'd really, really, really like to just punch him.

"Don't we all," I said.

As Diana got louder, though, Mary got quieter. She never really liked talking about Mulciber, and I can see why. I told Diana to change the subject, so she started to talk about how nice it was of Potter to come out and defend me and how he didn't bully Mulciber and Snape. I told her to shove it.

I got my chocolate frogs and the ride passed relatively quickly. The Prefects did their rounds on the train, the feast was unbelievably delicious, and the Sorting Hat sang a song that was probably meant to make people think, but I'm pretty sure everyone forgot about it. He talked about how we are separated into Houses based on the talents and gifts we have—basically who we are—and we need to use that in these times, because we are all still humans despite Houses. It was somber, but it's true.

I even discovered that while I'll miss my roommates (Diana, Mary, Eileen, and Jane—who is nice, but doesn't really associate with the rest of us), I love my new room.

I never noticed it before, but on the girls' side of the Gryffindor tower, there are stairs that pass all the dormitories of the first through seventh years and lead to the Head Girl's room. It's a nice room. My bed's twice as large as my previous one was, but it has the same red bed hangings, pillows, and covers. I have a desk, my own loo, and a nook under a window with a decent view, all of which make my room entirely splendid. I saw that there was another door opposite to the one I came through by the stairs, so I opened it to find my own personal Common Room. It's about an eighth the size of Gryffindor's Common Room, but it's just as nice. There's a fireplace, a couch, a desk with two chairs placed around it, and four large but different armchairs that seriously look like you could sink into them and never come out.

Just as I was stepping forward to test out the armchair closest to the fireplace, a door I hadn't noticed (even though it was directly across from me) clanged opened and out stepped Potter.

I looked at him. He looked at me. I didn't move forward to the arm chair I had already mentally claimed as my own, but I did glance past Potter to see that the doorway he was standing in led to a room that looked just like mine.

So I realized it's not my own personal Common Room. I'm sharing it with Potter.

Awesome.

"Well this will be fun," Potter said. Even he sounded slightly annoyed that we were being forced together. I made a noncommittal noise and then turned and strode back into my room, shutting the door behind me.

I have to spend enough time with him for the next year, and I would prefer to minimize it as much as possible.

Besides, I had to prepare for my first day of classes, during which I would find myself meeting my brand new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

* * *

><p>"I only ask for two qualifications for this professor: fit and young," Diana said the next morning.<p>

We were walking into the DADA classroom for the very first class of the school year. Surprisingly, many students continued on to the NEWT level. I guess everyone else realized the need for the subject, too.

"You have a boyfriend," Mary said.

"Vaughn and I went on two dates, and so? It's nice to have a little something to stare at during classes. Besides, the past six professors we've had for this class have been old geezers. I figure the probability of getting an attractive teacher now has to at least be one out of seven."

Mary rolled her eyes, but I could tell she agreed, even though she has an actual boyfriend. "Hey, Professor Day wasn't that bad. She was nice, and she rarely gave us homework," I said as I set my bag and books at one of the desks in the back. Diana placed her belongings on the one beside it, and Mary snagged the two seats directly in front. One for her, the other for Ben Mylne, her boyfriend.

"She didn't give us homework because she could barely see a meter in front of her, let alone read one of our papers," Diana countered.

"Remember Professor Hollis?" Mary asked.

"Oh my god," I said. "I can't even look at biscuits anymore without feeling freaked out."

You can't do anything, Professor, to make you weirder than Professor Hollis. He looked like a relatively normal wizard. He was in his late thirties and had a nice smile. All you had to do was ignore the giant parrot that he always kept no more than five feet away from him.

No, seriously. After the first month, we asked Professor McGonagall (our Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor House, I'm sure you've met her by the time you read this, so you know you don't want to cross her) about it. She said that when he was doing some research in the Amazon or somewhere, he had an "accident," and the bird supposedly helped him. After that, Professor Hollis never wanted to leave his bird, which he named Louis. It went even further, though, because he was always there for our classes, too. Professor Hollis was feeding him biscuit after biscuit or talking to the parrot and having it repeat the lessons back to us. There were days where we were taught by a parrot.

You think I'm kidding, but it's nowhere near funny enough to be a joke.

He ended up leaving because Louis died. I don't think he knew how to function without him, and he ended up saying that because Louis left him, it was symbolically required of him to leave us. Personally, I think the poor bird had one too many biscuits.

"Hey, Lily, Diana," said Ben as he walked down the aisle to the seat Mary saved for him. He kissed her cheek. "Have a good summer?"

"Yup."

"Uh-huh. You?"

"It was good, too long of a time to be away from this pretty girl, though." He smiled at Mary. She rolled her eyes, but I saw her fighting a smile, and she ended up leaning forward to kiss him. Which I'm pretty sure he was going for. Diana and I looked at each other out of the corners of our eyes. They started whispering and giggling, fooling with the other's hands, so we took our seats.

"So you haven't heard anything about who the mystery professor is?" Diana asked me. For some reason you weren't at the feast yesterday.

"No, why would I?"

"You're Head Girl."

"Oh. Right. Well, no, I haven't. I expect Dumbledore is too busy mulling over the fact that his brain left him long enough for him to declare Potter Head Boy."

Diana grimaced, but I know she thought it was funny. She's only Potter's spokesperson because her mum's a Pureblood, so she grew up knowing Potter's mum, also a Pureblood. You know how those blood ties are… Joking, because Diana's mum is really nice and often asks me about my family because she's genuinely curious, and the Potters are some of the decent Purebloods. Anyway, Potter and Diana are like cousins, I guess you could say. She usually has no problem poking fun at him because it's almost always spot-on, but apparently this year she does.

Potter, Black, Remus, and Pettigrew all walked into class and scanned the room for seats. Since they had about thirty seconds to spare before they were late, almost all of the seats in the back of the room were taken, and no four were grouped together. Black clapped his hand on Potter's shoulder and muttered something to him. He strutted over to Caroline Klent, who actually readjusted her breasts when she thought no one was looking. He leaned down to her and started whispering to her as if she was the most important girl in the world. He nodded over to Potter, Remus, and Pettigrew, giving her a pleading look. She hesitated, but he said something that caused her face to flush and her to pull her best friend, Holly Reicht, to a set of seats at the front of the room. Black turned to his mates and grinned, throwing himself down in Caroline's old seat.

I shook my head. I'm truly ashamed for my gender.

Just as I was about to lean over and say something to Diana, you, Professor, stepped out of your office. Your round, golden spectacles glinted in the light and you smiled at us. Your tall, thin frame told us you were young, but the lines on your face said older. Everyone sat up straighter, preparing to evaluate who our new professor is.

Like your glasses, your robes were golden. You'd think that golden robes would be really showy and flamboyant, something someone would wear to get attention, but they weren't. If gold could somehow be subtle, yours were. You walked gracefully, even though you looked to be in your early forties. (If I'm wrong, my sincerest apologies.) When you stood at the front of the room, you opened your arms and said, "Hello, I am Professor Malek."

"Damn," Diana whispered. Mary heard and turned around, grinning, and we had to stifle our giggles.

(Sorry, Professor.)

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to fulfill the teaching position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. This subject is an especially crucial one in today's situation, and I hope to pass to you all the knowledge you will need to know for what I hope you will never have to face, all the while knowing you more than likely will." I wondered what your job was before you were offered to teach here. "I have a variety of spells, dueling techniques, and strategies planned for you, in addition to a special long-term project."

Most of the students casually looked around the room trying to see if everyone else was just in the dark as them; they were. What could this special project be? _Why, I bet it will be something exciting and useful and challenging_, I wrongly thought.

You raised your wand and summoned a brown box forward. You placed it on the desk of Holly, who was looking especially resentful towards Caroline, and reached into the box to take out a thick blue journal. "This," you said, holding it up to the class, "will be your project."

You could have heard a quill drop to the floor.

"What's that supposed to mean?" grunted Mulciber, ever the intellect.

"Each and every one of you will receive a journal that you will need to fill with a record of your life."

About three-fourths of the class groaned, protested, or made noises of disgust. You weren't starting out on the right foot.

"Why?" Philippe Aubert, a Hufflepuff, asked.

You appeared to have been waiting for this question. "Good question…"

"Philippe Aubert."

"Good question, Mr. Aubert. I'm sure none of you have been oblivious to the danger that surrounds us. It's everywhere. It seems that even if you declare yourself neutral, you are still in the war." It was weird to hear you say that, that this was a war. Had it really gotten to that point? "During this time, there is one thing you need to keep close to you." You paused, like you expected one of us to supply the answer. "Your heart. You need to keep your heart close." Someone snorted. "Your heart holds the key to you, does it not? Doesn't it hold everything about you that could be used against you and for you? Your heart holds your weaknesses, your fears, and your secrets. If an enemy attacks your heart, you are in a tragic situation. They'll use it against you. The question of a specific person's safety could drive you to do anything, and if your enemy knows that, that person's life and your own could be in grave danger. But does your heart not also hold your strengths? It holds your talents, your loves, your ambitions, and your reasons to keep going. Simultaneously, your heart can be your downfall and your victory. You will record everything in this journal. You will write your hopes, heartbreaks, dreams, fears, and worries—you will write your life. In doing so, I hope you will learn something new about yourselves. With so many things going on in our lives, it's easy to forget to stop to think about how we really feel. I expect this project will give you a nice, long look at your hearts."

Seriously? I looked around incredulously. I wasn't the only one.

"This journal must be filled by the time I collect it. I haven't decided when that will be, but expect to have it for at least six months. We'll see how well everyone is doing by that point, yes?" No one said anything. There's not even an official deadline for this thing! "It will be one-third of your final grade. I will add, though," you said with a critical countenance, "that while I do not encourage thievery, you are expected to protect this journal like you would protect your heart, and if someone steals your journal, then I will do nothing."

What? How, in any way, shape, or form, is that a good idea? _Yes, kids, I am making you write everything about your lives down, but go ahead and try to steal other people's secrets and personal belongings! It is the real world after all! _

How about not, Professor.

"Now, one by one, come up to my desk and I will give you your journal. Let's start with you," he said with a nod towards Caroline.

She got up to receive her journal. You asked her for her name, and she told you. The process continued for the next almost forty people. As I walked up, I passed Black and Potter. "He must be joking," Black said. "There's no way I'm going to sit around and write my _feelings_." He had a particular tone of disgust on the word feelings.

When I reached the front, you said, "Your name, Miss?"

"Lily Evans," I said.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Evans," you said while digging through his box. "I think that this"—you pulled out a dark green journal—"will be fitting for you, don't you think?"

Green. Of course. Not that I don't like my eyes. I do. In fact, not to be arrogant or anything, but I love my eyes. Everyone tells me I have the prettiest eyes they've seen. Emerald green is a rarity, after all, and I admit that it's probably the only striking thing about me. I forced a smile and went back to my seat.

"Nice," Mary said, turning around in her seat to look at my green journal. "At least it's not red for your hair."

I nodded. At least there was that.

After everyone got his or her journal, you stepped forward again. "I have a few points I would like to clarify before we go on with class. First, I will read your journals when you complete them. Doing this will allow me to see if you took this project seriously and how you have evolved throughout this semester. Owners of journals filled with scribbled rubbish will not pass, I can guarantee that." You looked menacingly down on the students over his glasses. "Second, nothing you write in your journals will ever be revealed to anyone besides you and me—unless you misplace your journal. If that does happen, I'm afraid you are on your own. I will not grade you on what you write, as long as you write honestly. You can write anything you want, and it will have no affect on your grade. Everything you tell me is completely confidential, unless it endangers your life, endangers someone else's life, or breaks any of the Ministry of Magic's laws. Yes, this means you can write all about how you skipped class and never got caught or how you were the one to set my papers on fire—I will be unable to act upon it." Potter and Black were smirking. "If you got away with it then, nothing you write can change what happened."

The two boys' grins got even wider, and some other students joined in. I can almost ensure that you will regret saying that one, Professor.

"Other than those two things, I have no other qualifications other than to simply open your hearts and be honest. Write honestly about how you feel, what you fear, and what you love. While honesty may cause some trouble, it will allow you to learn things about yourself and others that you would never have before. Any questions?" No one responded, but I could feel a single question buzzing through the minds of almost everyone in the room: Do we really have to do this?

"No? All right," you continued, "now, can someone give me a brief overview of what you learned last year? It is my understanding that you covered…"

The class continued with us really only reviewing what we learned as sixth years. My other classes that day—Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Herbology—passed relatively quickly. I received no other projects like in DADA, but there were a lot of lectures about how important N.E.W.T.s are and how difficult this year will be.

That is how I ended up in my room late at night, Professor, scribbling away, summing up how I think all of the professors at my school have gone mad. Between your assignment of keeping a diary and Dumbledore's and the other professors' appointment of Potter as Head Boy, I'm not quite sure how I will make it through the year.

Then again, I've already taken up a decent sized chunk of pages in this journal, and Potter has stayed off of my radar, so maybe this won't be too hard after all…


	3. Do You Even Know How to Laugh?

**Thank you for all the kind messages of support! I'm excited to get back at it, and to be on Christmas break and to have all this time to spend not being stuck in the library or something. Hope you like it! Even though James and Lily are definitely not friends yet. What can I say? I'm a sucker for the long drawn out stories with all the build up. :p**

* * *

><p><strong>September 2, 1977<strong>

Except I was wrong. This is hard. _Now_ what do I write about? What do people write about when they don't have anything to complain about?

* * *

><p><strong>Later <strong>

Scratch that: I do have something to complain about! Out of all the classes I've attended so far, not a single professor has failed to forget to emphasize just how crucial our N.E.W.T.s are. Sometimes, it really feels like they're just expecting us to crash and burn. Is that normal professor behavior? I wish I could look up the statistics of seventh year students that never make it to the actual end.

You should have seen my classmates and I before our O.W.L.s. Everyone was panicking, whether they chose to reveal it or not. The only people not panicking were probably Sirius Black and James Potter. Although I did catch Potter frantically studying one day in the library. Never Sirius Black. Besides, if he were to study, he'd make sure to do it in private so he could keep his I'm-effortlessly-great reputation.

I think Mary ended up using fifty meters of parchment to help her study. She claimed that if she rewrote all of her notes, usually more than once, then it would eventually stick with her. Granted, I think it did help because she could practically recite all her notes and she did well on her exams, but she walked around with hand cramps, three extra quills in her pockets, and ink covering her hands. After exams were done, she slept for a solid fourteen hours.

Diana first claimed she wasn't concerned with her O.W.L.s because Witch Weekly, the most popular magazine for witches, could care less about her scores when they hired her to run the magazine, but I'm pretty sure that was just a ruse to try to keep herself calm. When we asked her why she was then meticulously pouring over her notes and textbooks, she said her mother would kill her if she didn't do well. Then she started stress eating. When Diana is sad or stressed, she likes to eat. Don't get me wrong, I'm probably the first one to scarf down an entire chocolate cake after I'm done crying, but Diana ended up eating so much she claimed she gained almost five kilos. When exams were done, she couldn't believe we had let her eat so much (even though once she had physically snapped at Mary when Mary tried to eat some of the pie from her plate), and she went on a crash diet right after.

I got sucked into my studying. Everything was about my notes, my textbooks, and my notes. Anyone who tried to pull me away from my books and parchments usually found themselves on the receiving end of some very short remarks. If I hadn't practically locked myself in the library, I would have probably gotten on the bad side of a lot of people. Whenever I feel upset or stressed, I easily lose my temper. Not so much anymore, but a lot of fifth year. Hopefully no one judged me based on fifth year. That was a weird time for me.

* * *

><p><strong>September 3, 1977<strong>

First Saturday of the school year and I'm stuck inside writing a Transfiguration essay. I mean, really, who cares about Conjuring Spells? Sure, the ability to create things out of thin air is cool, but do we really have to write an entire essay on it? We touched on this last year already, too. I think Professor McGonagall just wants to let us know as soon as possible that she's all seriousness this year, no funny business. As if anyone has ever in his or her life questioned that.

I should've dropped Transfiguration. I hate it. I could have continued Care of Magical Creatures, but I didn't. Why? Because, one, I was told Transfiguration is impressive regardless of career, and, two, I'm a stubborn bugger who thought that since I struggle with Transfiguration so much I must continue it.

Oh, hold on.

Mary and Diana have just come to ask me if I want to go watch Gryffindor's Quidditch tryouts, which Potter certainly wasted no time in arranging. Technically, Quidditch captains are supposed to wait to set up tryouts until they get the okay from the Head Boy or Girl, so tryouts aren't usually until two weeks after school starts. But I guess because Potter's Head Boy and captain, he's got the advantage.

I would say that I'd be surprised if word about it managed to reach everyone in this short amount of time, but I wouldn't be, because he's Potter and this is Hogwarts.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

This will be the only comment I will ever pay Potter, but I genuinely mean it: he sure knows how to play Quidditch and captain the team.

It's easy to understand how, though, since he's been on the team since he was a second year. He then became the youngest captain that anyone could remember as a fourth year.

Not to say it was a bad decision, but it was unusual. I think it can all be fairly blamed on a certain twat named Ashby Vance. See, while Ashby was a talented Seeker, and he won us the Cup three years in a row, he clearly didn't look to the future. Or he didn't care about his team once he finished school. Either way, when he was a seventh year, and Potter was a third, he somehow managed to captain a team comprised of five seventh years (including himself), two sixth years, and one third year—Potter. Luckily, Vance had the limited knowledge to know he needed to leave the captaincy to Potter.

Fourth year came around, and Potter had to find practically an entirely new team. The players he found weren't terrible, and he trained them up well enough, but the fact was that they had just never seriously played Quidditch before. Let's not forget that the two sixth years—both Chasers—had dated, which led to an incredible partnership on the field—until the bloke caught the girl snogging Hufflepuff's Keeper. After that, he neither passed the Quaffle to her nor acknowledged her. So while Potter is a good Chaser, he wasn't good enough to deal with all that drama on the field. I heard Potter threatened to kick the guy, Mark, off the team, but he just said, "Go ahead, Potter. You won't be any better off with Julie," a skinny second year who was the reserve Chaser. She was good, but her nerves overcame her talent, and the one time she was in a game, she froze.

Potter kept Mark (I think he should have told him to shove it then kicked him off anyway), and Gryffindor somehow managed to lose every single Quidditch match. I think that was the biggest embarrassment Potter has ever suffered.

Diana told me Potter put the team on a summer training schedule before fifth year, and it definitely worked. We didn't win, but we were good, winning almost three-fourth of our games. Sixth year we won the Cup, and I swear, to celebrate we had the biggest party you could possibly imagine.

Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts are actually a pretty big deal because while Potter is selective, he tries to keep two reserves and he doesn't avoid younger students since he personally knows what can happen when you have a team of all older students.

As Diana, Mary, and I walked to the Pitch, Diana tried to convince Mary to tell us what she knows about Ravenclaw's Quidditch team (Ben is one of Ravenclaw's Beaters).

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything," Mary said adamantly.

"I don't believe that at all, Mary MacDonalad."

"It's true," Mary said, looking over her shoulder. "Besides, if I did know something, such as that Ben wrote to William over the summer to see what he was planning, but that William said he doesn't care about Quidditch anymore because Melanie won't take him back, I wouldn't tell you."

Diana and I grinned.

"I sure wish you could tell us, though," I said in an attempt to sound somber.

"Me, too," Mary said, looking around once more to make sure no one was nearby. "If I could tell you that Ben said some of the other players want to have the new members—because they need to fill four spots—spread the gossip that they've never played and play really badly when there's a crowd so that the other teams will put their guard down, I would tell you. Like I said, though, I can't."

Diana put her arm around, Mary. "We understand, Mary. You're such a loyal girlfriend."

I nodded vigorously, grinning. "You put the Hufflepuffs to shame."

Dropping the pretense, Mary told us what little more she knew about the Ravenclaw team. Turns out they want to be sneakier than the Slytherins this year. I doubt it would work, though. Ravenclaw has always been a big competitor, especially recently.

Diana weaved her way through the stands to find us good seats. Unfortunately, the seats she picked meant we were basically sitting with Remus, Pettigrew, and Black. I gave her a look, but she didn't see. Mary did, but she shrugged it off, not caring. She gets along fine with our male classmates, more so with Remus and Pettigrew than Potter and Black.

"Hullo, boys," Diana said as she placed herself on the same bench as them. Mary sat next to her, and I next to Mary.

Black ignored us, eyes focused on the field, but Peter and Remus both said hi.

Black suddenly turned to Peter and Remus. "I changed my mind. I bet eleven."

"You can't change your mind!" Peter said. "We already picked our numbers." I looked to Mary and Diana to see if they knew what the boys were talking about, but they didn't.

"But I did. You can change yours, too, Pete, if you want," Sirius offered, sounding as if he cared less.

Peter looked to the players standing on the field. His blue eyes slowly scanned the people, but then he shook his head. "No, I'm staying with seven. Moony?"

"Still four," Remus said. "Hogwarts' girls have more decency than you two think."

"I know plenty of birds here without decency," Sirius said while flicking his long black hair out of his face. Peter snickered. Remus rolled his eyes.

I'd have to admit that Sirius was probably right. A number of girls do seem to lose a least a little bit of their dignity when it comes to Sirius. Unofficially declared the most handsome boy in school, Sirius seems to have it all: the looks, the brains, the charm.

"What are you guys betting on?" I asked.

"How many girls are trying out just to get the attention of the blokes," Remus explained. "I bet four, Peter seven, Sirius now eleven."

"You did not bet on that," Diana said incredulously.

"Of course we did." Sirius turned to face us. "We've gone to tryouts for the past three years for this sole purpose."

"Not fourth year," Peter corrected.

"True. Fourth year we only came to laugh at the twitchy second years trying out."

"But there were too many girls," Remus said, "only there to try to impress James and the other boys with their lack of ability to even catch a Quaffle standing on the ground. Most of them just wanted attention. We started betting on how many of those girls would show up to tryouts the next year."

"That's terrible!" Mary said. Remus looked slightly ashamed for a moment.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot, MacDonald," Sirius said. "If you show up to Quidditch tryouts in broad daylight knowing that people will be there watching, and you've never ridden a broomstick in your life, and you don't even want to be on the Quidditch team, you give the audience full right to mock you however they please. We just happen to do this with an exchange of two Galleons."

I could tell that despite her inner moral compass, she agreed. "So…how many showed up last year?" she asked casually.

Sirius smiled at her approvingly. All the Gryffindors trying out were divided into five groups. I wondered by what.

"Thirteen," Peter said.

"And Remus bet _four_?" Diana asked.

"They know by now that, if anything, it just makes Prongs madder, which irritates the other serious players, and blokes hardly find it attractive," Remus explained.

"No, they don't," Sirius said. "The second years think that now they can try out for the Quidditch team everyone will want to snog them."

"Gross, Black," I said. "They're twelve."

"Jealous?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"Definitely not." I turned back to the tryouts. Mary kept talking to Remus and Peter about their bet. She got very interested. Pretty soon our innocent Mary's going to be corrupted into a gambler.

All of the players on the field, about thirty, kicked off their brooms and soared into the air. As they flew, Potter intently studied them. I knew what he wasn't looking for: almost as soon as one girl was in the air, she started shaking and didn't move. Just hovered there in the air, twenty-five feet up. Potter was calling up to her, but she just shook her head, frozen. Potter sighed and got on his broom. The rest of the potential players zoomed around the field—some wonderfully, others terribly—while Potter flew up to the girl. He grabbed her and placed her on his broomstick, holding the one the school owned that she had likely borrowed. She looked a little too pleased at the contact, and when she touched the ground, she bounded off, red-faced and smiling.

"That's one," Peter said, marking a tally on a scrap piece of parchment.

"She was a second year." Sirius smirked at me.

Potter dismissed three more girls, who could fly only marginally better than the first girl.

"That's four…," Peter chanted.

"Thanks, Peter," Remus said, "I hadn't counted that for myself."

Peter blushed, but a small smirk appeared when Potter dismissed a fifth girl with a rub of his hand across his face. She had flown into one of the better fliers…_backwards_. She looked to be a sixth year. I was embarrassed for her.

Peter made another mark. "Dammit," Remus muttered.

Tryouts got more interesting when the Quaffle, Bludgers, and Snitch were released. At that point, a good bit of people had showed up.

When Peter saw me looking around at the crowd, he said, "James has tryouts in the middle of the day and makes sure people will come so he'll know who gets nervous."

I nodded. Smart. At least Potter can claim he's a better captain than Head Boy.

In the end, exactly seven girls appeared to be a part of tryouts for a purpose other than Quidditch. Peter happily accepted two Galleons each from Sirius and Remus, who looked less than pleased. On a more positive note for everyone, from what I could tell, Potter collected a pretty talented group of players.

"Do you think we'll win the Cup again this year?" Diana asked no one in particular.

"It's our last year. James'll probably be even more barmy with the training than the past years. But at least we'll win." Sirius sounded so sure, it was oh-so-easy to taste the victory.

The crowd began to disperse, and we followed. The boys went their own way to meet up with Potter, but as Diana, Mary, and I trudged towards the castle, I remembered I needed to tell Potter we had to create the prefect schedule for patrols. I had started to arrange it all myself, but with nearly twenty-four other students bound to complain about the schedule and how they were patrolling four times, while she was patrolling three, but he had extra responsibilities so he needed to go to sleep earlier, and other nonsense, it was taking way too long to do it myself.

"Bollocks," I said. "I have to go tell Potter we need to make the round schedules tonight."

"Okay, we'll see you back in the castle," Diana said. They turned to go.

"Hang on—won't you come with me?"

"Lily," Mary said exasperatedly. "It's just Potter. Tell him you two need to get it done and then just ask what time would work best for him."

"But you're actually going to leave me?"

"Yes."

"Rotten mates, the both of you," I grumbled. I don't see how they just couldn't wait.

I walked back towards the Quidditch Pitch, which was now almost completely empty. A couple of Slytherin Quidditch players walked past me. I resisted the urge to glare at them, even though it was so blatantly obvious they were spying. No matter. Sneakiness wasn't going to make a bit of difference in us winning the Cup.

Looking through the groups of people walking towards the castle for a messy black head of hair was reasonably easy. Potter was heading up the hill with his mates, broom in his hand, Quidditch gear still on.

I hurried towards him. I was just there with Mary and Diana. We probably walked right past one another. "Potter! Hey, Potter!"

He turned, and when he saw me hurrying, he paused to wait. Remus, Peter, and Sirius stopped as well, all of them looking at me. See? His friends didn't just leave him in the dust. _I should be friends with them_, I thought. I had to resist the urge to snort at the ludicrous thought. They were, after all, staring at me as I made my way towards them. I couldn't look like a loon.

"Potter, hi. I was wondering—"

"Evans. Hey!" He cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, his voice slightly deeper. "Did you watch tryouts?"

I was a little surprised at his attempt to strike up what appeared to be a normal conversation. Potter? Normal? Yeah, right. That boy's as normal as the fact that we live in an abandoned castle of magical beings and creatures where people live to be like two hundred. "Oh—yeah, yeah I did."

"We looked pretty good out there, huh," he said proudly.

Typical Potter. "Yeah, we just might have a good team this year. Anyway, we need to make the schedule for rounds. Can you do it tonight?"

He made a face. "Does it have to be tonight?"

One of the first tasks we had to do as Head Boy and Head Girl and he's trying to skiv off. Ask me if I'm surprised, Professor. Go ahead. Ask.

'Are you surprised, Miss Evans?'

No I am not.

"Yes it has to be tonight. Do you have better plans?"

Potter looks behind him at his mates. Pettigrew is rapidly shaking his head, Black is making slashing movements over his neck, and even Remus is eyeing him with a look of desperation. "Well, actually…"

"There's this thing called a rhetorical question, Potter, and that means that you shouldn't have better plans, no matter what your mates want you to do."

"Oi!" exclaimed Sirius.

"All right, all right. Don't get your knickers in a knot. I just figured we could talk about it considering this is a partnership here."

I cringed inwardly. I'm cringing now as I think about it, honestly. God. The one thing that always assured me these past two years is that—officially—I was superior to Potter. I was a Prefect! He was not! I couldn't claim much else over him. I detest it every day, but the facts are that Potter is more popular and charming and witty than me, and I'm not much better than him in classes. That he wasn't a Prefect always made me feel a bit better. Yet now he's Head Boy, and you know who's superior to the Head Boy? Not the Head Girl, I'll tell you that. We're _equals_.

I feel lightheaded.

"All right, point taken. When would you like to do it?"

"Eight thirty?" His mates seemed pleased with this.

"Okay. Eight thirty in our Common Room." I stood there, unsure of what to do. We were all heading in the same direction, but that thrilling conversation was going nowhere good. I wondered if I should just stalk off like usual. Seemed a bit immature at this point. Too fifth year. And we had come so far since then. (We became experts at avoiding one another, honestly.)

"Well…" Potter awkwardly gestured forward with his hands. We turned to resume walking to the castle, and the other three walked alongside. For a heartbeat, no one said anything, but then Peter started telling Potter about the bet and the four Galleons he received. I didn't say anything the whole way, nor did anyone address me, so I might as well have just been walking by myself at the same pace as the other boys. Whatever. When we entered the castle, I took off in the other direction with a nod to my classmates.

Creating the schedule shouldn't be a problem. I mean, the task itself will be arduous, but we'll get it done. Plus, if I shut down Potter every time he tries to talk to me about non-Head Boy/Girl duties, it might be—dare I write it—easy. Yet whenever I think about associating with him, I cringe. Diana says I'm being a baby. Mary thinks I'm coming down with the flu. I think Potter's the one making me ill.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

I did not survive. At approximately a quarter after eight, I went down to the Common Room with the lists of all the prefects, an abnormally large calendar, three quills, two bottles of ink, and a roll of parchment. Potter came down a minute late, and he brought nothing. I was shocked.

I hadn't even bothered to attempt to place my materials on the table. I merely spread them all out on the floor. I nodded to the spot across from me on the other side of the large calendar. Potter sat down.

"Merlin, how did you ever get a calendar this big?"

"I made it."

"You made it?" He sounded so incredulous it was almost insulting.

"Yes. All I had to do was find a square parchment, charm it larger, and then add the lining and details to make it look the way we need it to. Is there something wrong with it?" I was daring him to criticize it.

"No," Potter said. "I couldn't even tell you made it. I thought you bought it or something. It looks good."

He sounded sincere. It was nice—albeit unusual—to hear him sound genuine. "Thanks. We only have to patrol from nine to midnight. Students might sneak out later than that, but they usually don't. If anything, they aren't going to leave the castle, and Filch likes to do sudden patrols in the middle of the night, so he might catch some." Potter nodded. "It's easy that they're broken up this way, because everyone patrols for one hour on their night. I figure we give fifth years from nine o'clock to ten, since it's their first year and they have to deal with O.W.L.s. Sixth years patrol from ten to eleven, and because the seventh years are the oldest, we patrol after the sixth years until midnight. That's how we've done it before."

"Except we have N.E.W.T.s. A lot of the seventh years are going to pitch a fit if they have to patrol late into the night and won't have enough time to study."

"They will have enough time to study."

"They won't think so. I don't know about you, but I'm not too keen on listening to those buggers complain endlessly." He had a point. I don't know why, but prefects loathe patrols. It's not too terrible, but in my past two years, I've seen many try to argue their way out of doing it later or altogether. "Granted, no one studies nowadays, but they'll probably swear on the Founders' graves they need the time."

"So what—we make the sixth years do the late patrols? The seventh years are the oldest; they're supposed to take on the most responsibility."

Potter shrugged. "We can have the seventh years on late patrol the first month, sixth years on late patrol the next, then seventh, and so on. That way everyone does a little bit of the midnight patrolling. Except the fifth years."

I nodded. Why was he coming up with all these good ideas? I prepared myself mentally, emotionally, and spiritually with the expectation that he would be arrogant and lazy. Now he's going to be nice and intelligent? Call the Ministry—we've got a suspected case of the Imperius curse at hand.

Focusing on the task at hand again, I jotted that down on my parchment. "Should we have one or two sets of prefects patrol every hour?"

"Are they sticking together?"

"For now, yeah."

"Then we should have two. One pair patrolling the whole castle is useless."

"We could have three patrols."

"No way. People would have to patrol nearly every day. Honestly, this whole patrol thing is a joke." He ran his hand through his hair. I gaped at him. What was he talking about? He's Head Boy! He can't call his duties a joke! "It's mostly a formality. There's no way we're going to be able to catch all the students sneaking out. There are too many secret passages and the castle is too big. If anything, only the utter cabbages will get in trouble."

I wanted to be the perfect Head Girl that understood and expressed the importance of rules and patrols and how there's a system in place, but even I knew that was a load of dung. Potter was right. In a year of patrols, I'd probably only catch no more than thirty students breaking curfew, not including the ones genuinely heading back to their Common Room from spending too long in the library or such. Most students don't know how easy it is to not get caught, even if occasionally the professors will patrol (although not really). Students usually stay in their dormitories only because they know we're out patrolling, and they're scared to be caught. Everything's practically for show. That doesn't mean the students have to know this, though, nor will I admit it aloud.

"We'll stick to two pairs per hour. Let's start with the fifth years…"

And so it continued. We wrote down names and scribbled across the calendar, trying to make sure no pair was patrolling more than another. It was mind numbingly boring. It was so boring, I was almost tempted to start a conversation with Potter. Almost. We all know where conversations between us end up.

We said nothing but names, times, years, and houses. After about an hour, I was really confused. Why wouldn't Potter try to start up a conversation? He tried to today, he messed with me on the train, and he never passed up an opportunity before. So why was he sitting there, pretending to be responsible? Is he ill? Should I have checked him into the Hospital Wing?

"We have an odd number of seventh years, so how do you think we should do that?" Potter asked, looking at the list of seventh years. It's true: with Potter Head Boy even though he wasn't a prefect, we don't have even pairs. Remus is left alone since I was his partner, but now… Potter's mine.

"Oh," I said. Truth is, I thought of this last night, and I already decided what to do. "I don't think Remus should do patrols." I casually organized the quills in front of me. "He's already got so much on his shoulders, with his mum and all, that it'd be pointless to have him patrol when he doesn't even have a partner. He kind of deserves a break, don't you think?"

I braced myself for his response.

"Yeah," Potter said. "You're right."

_What?_ I'm not a big fan of change. When things and people start to change, you become a seventeen year old witch with a dead mother and a sister and an ex-best friend that hate you, and you find yourself at the top of the hit list of a certified maniac. But this… This I could get used to.

When we neared the end, I couldn't help but voice my thoughts.

"This was a surprise."

"What was?"

"You were actually helpful and not a pain." I wanted to hex myself. That was the total opposite of mature and appreciative. If only there was a spell to put the words that just came out of your mouth back in your brain.

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Evans," Potter said. "I'll finally be able to rest at night knowing I have won your approval."

"Don't be dramatic," I said, feeling defensive. "I'm just pointing out that you almost seemed like a real Head Boy." Potter looked at me incredulously. Bugger. I was not bringing my point across well. "I almost want to wait a bit and see if you're actually Remus under the influence of Polyjuice Potion," I joked. Potter loves jokes. I figured a joke would lighten the mood. That's like waving a bone in front of a dog. He's got to bite.

Unfortunately, I need to reevaluate my understanding of the animal kingdom.

"Yep, that's right," Potter said, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Just an hour before, I was pacing in my room, wondering how on earth I could create a schedule with you without being totally incompetent. The question was eating away at me when the answer suddenly appeared. Obviously there was no way I could be a decent, helpful person on my own, so what I had to do was act like Remus. God bless Lupin, because he is always the solution."

Er…

_What_?

"Your tone tells me you're joking," I said, "but this sounds like an entirely plausible explanation and I'm still wondering if you actually thought that."

"When are you going to get over yourself, Evans?" Potter groaned. "Not everyone is going to be the dung on your trainers forever."

"Hey! I didn't say you were! Pardon me for wondering why you were acting like an obedient house elf rather than a person, let alone yourself."

"I'm a house elf now? Brilliant. Keep them coming, Head Girl. Truly, you are a grand role model to the students."

"Oh, shut up," I snapped. "Look me in the eye and tell me you weren't gagging at how you were acting. I'm surprised you hadn't called me 'ma'am' yet. That was not James Potter and you know it!"

"Yeah, you're right, as always. Cooperative, polite, and serious—that could never be James Potter. Go on, you know me so well, who's the real James Potter?" His vindictive and short tone had me fuming. He hadn't made me feel like this since fifth year. I stood up.

"An irresponsible toerag with a fat head who thinks he's better than everyone else and who has no business being Head Boy," I said quickly, as if the words had been waiting to pour out of me. I towered over him. He was still sitting on the floor, as if using the energy to even stand up to be level with me was a waste.

"Good one. Haven't heard that since fifth year. Want to hear who the real Lily Evans was her fifth year? Plenty of people would say Defense class had some good examples."

That shut me up. My jaw snapped shut and my body stiffened. Everyone knows that fifth year is a forbidden subject. It's like your awkward puberty years or the time you thought the bloke you liked was going to ask you on a date but he was just telling you that you had food in your teeth: it didn't happen, and if anyone mentions it, you kill them. No questions asked.

Looking back, murdering Potter would have been relatively easy. It was just us in our Common Room, and there was a cupboard on the other side of the room, a perfect place to hide a body.

"That was different and you know it," I said. My voice sounded shaky. Bugger. My vocal cords deserve a stern lecture about how they need to keep it together when I'm in a row. Especially when I'm losing. It was like they wove a little white flag. You let me down, Vocal Cords. You let me down.

"And yet no one goes around yelling at you about it every day!" Potter exclaimed.

"Things changed!"

"Yeah, they did!" He quickly stood up. He is much taller than me. I wanted to tell him to sit back down because I did not appreciate feeling vertically inferior.

"I don't think they did," I said coolly.

"I think you're right." If my voice was as cold as the Blake Lake on Christmas, Potter's face was like Antarctica.

I held his gaze for as long as I could. As we stared at one another, daring the other to back down, I replayed our conversation in my head. Then I stopped doing that because I began to feel guilty. I broke eye contact.

"Since this bout of helpfulness is clearly about to run dry, how about you finish this up? That way you can make up for me having to do the whole meeting on the train by myself."

"All right. You better go, anyway. The effects of the Polyjuice are about to end."

I couldn't come up with anything to say to that one. I opted for a dramatic storm out instead. It would've been better if I hadn't jammed my foot into the leg of one of the armchairs and nearly fallen on my face.

I think that says a lot about me, Professor. But I try not to think about it too much.

I stomped towards my door, ripped it open, and let it bang shut behind me. Without even thinking, I snatched my nightgown, robe, towel, and toiletries. My feet led the way to the Prefect's Bathroom, my mind completely ignoring the fact that it was past curfew and I really shouldn't be out. I am Head Girl. If I have to put up with Potter as my partner, then I will get special privileges.

The monstrous sized bathtub, which is really more like a pool, was empty. Good. Peace and quiet… I started running the taps of the bath. Purple and blue today, with vanilla and lavender. The water and foams quickly poured out. My bath shoes slapped against the ground as I threw them to the side.

"Lily?"

All I wanted was to sink into that wondrous bathtub with too-many-to-count salts and soaps, and potentially never emerge. I did not want to talk to anyone. But upon seeing the round face and short blonde hair, I realized it could be worse.

"Bobby, hey."

I tried to smile, but I suppose I failed spectacularly, because Bobby, in his pajama pants and shirt, hair still wet, said, "Are you all right? You're not mad I'm here are you? Technically, I know unless we're doing rounds that night we can't be out past nine, but I lost track of time…"

"What? Oh, no, no!" I smiled again—a genuine, if small one. "You're fine. I know you're not here vandalizing the bathrooms or anything. I mean, I got here later than you. I was doing Head stuff with Potter…" I had the sudden urge to hex something. Correction: to hex Potter.

Bobby shifted the pile of neatly folded clothes in his hands and leaned against the wall. "Oh, yeah. How's that going?"

"I don't even know why Potter's Head Boy," I said, feeling that that was enough of an answer.

"Dumbledore knows."

"I have a theory that Dumbledore's brain was addled over the holidays. I'm just a bit behind with evidence."

Bobby laughed. "At least you're honest. I wouldn't worry too much about it, anyway. You did well at the meeting on the train."

I groaned. "Even when I told everyone prefect was like perfect with the letters rearranged?"

Bobby chuckled again, his blue eyes bright. "I guess you learn something new every day."

What a polite way to admit my idiocy. I grinned at him before a puddle of water spilled over the edge of the pool. "Oh!" I turned off the faucets.

"I'll let you get to your bath then," Bobby said.

"Okay, goodnight."

He turned to go, but he stopped and looked back at me. "I wouldn't let James get you down. Dumbledore knew what he was doing when he appointed Head Boy and Girl, and since you were definitely the right choice, I know James is too."

I smiled. "Thanks, Bobby." Why couldn't he have been Head Boy? Why couldn't it have been anyone else but Potter?

Once I was alone again, I dived into the tub. I would go there whenever I felt like everything was becoming too overwhelming. I always felt better. Except this time. The tub of purple, blue, lavender, vanilla, hot water, and bubbles didn't make me feel any more relaxed. And that's when I realized it was going to take a lot more than magical soap to turn this around.

* * *

><p><strong>September 4, 1977<strong>

Potter finished the calendar in time for the meeting, so now patrols start tomorrow, a Monday. Most of the prefects thought it was a fair arrangement of patrols, but a select few felt the urge to try to bargain with their times. Potter told them to shut it because everything was staying the way it was. I glared at him. He ignored me. We ignored each other the whole time, in fact. With Potter and I trying to both direct the meeting without acknowledging the other, we got some funny looks from the prefects. We are the worst Heads in the world.

**Later**

I don't know why, but McGonagall is a wonderfully terrible bearer of bad news. I think it's the spectacles. Even though the lenses of glasses are transparent, it's still like her eyes are hiding behind the squares of glass. You can't see to her eyes, and you certainly can't tell what she's really feeling, so you assume based on other things. Like her mouth. Which is in a perpetual state of straightness. I can count the number of times I've seen her smile on my hands. She's not a mean professor, though. If anything, I know she cares for her students as if they are her own children. Especially when…. Well, anyway, McGonagall is pretty strict, and the use of the word frightening wouldn't be terribly off, so when she walked into the Common Room this evening, you could easily guess what most of the students thought was going to happen.

There are usually only two instances McGonagall visits the Gryffindor Common Room: Either someone is in trouble (usually Potter and his friends, but there was one instance where all of Gryffindor was punished) or something bad has happened. Considering school started less than a week ago and the Marauders have been playing it cool (not to mention the current circumstance of the wizarding community), nearly everyone assumed it was the second option.

The entire room fell silent. The only noise to be heard was a female voice coming from the radio, singing something about a pub and Polyjuice Potion. Oh, and a third year hiccupping. He had been standing on his head before McGonagall came in, trying to get rid of his ailment.

McGonagall scanned the room, and as she looked past the students, I swear you could see them intake their breaths before exhaling with relief when her eyes moved past them. What was it this time? Death? Missing person? Hostages? The eyes behind the glasses finally found their way to their destination. Ignoring the other students, the serious looking woman made her way towards the couch, where I was sitting with Diana.

I was going to faint. My stomach plummeted and my heart jumped out of my chest and out the window. I wondered if something happened. _Was it Petunia? Was it Dad?_ _Merlin, no_, I thought. _Not Dad, too. _McGonagall stood in front of me in her green robes and said, "Miss Evans?"

Vomit was making its way up my throat. I was sure she was going to tell me my whole family was gone in front of everyone. Everyone would know I was an orphan. Oh, God. "Yes?" I croaked. No one breathed.

"I'd like to let you know Professor Dumbledore requests that when you assign prefects their patrols, you organize them to be in pairs. He does not wish for students to be wandering the castle late at night alone. It is my understanding you had a meeting yesterday and patrols start tonight."

_Prefects. Patrols. Head Girl. Fine. Everything is fine. _My brain was practically patting itself in a soothing manner. "Oh—yes, we did. Everyone was placed in pairs already."

"Good. Then no prefect should be patrolling alone. Have a good night, Miss Evans." She swept out of the room more suddenly than she arrived. Almost mechanically, everyone turned back to what they were doing before. The rapid beatings of hearts were slowing down.

"Merlin…," I said, leaning back on the couch.

"I thought she was going to say something bad," Diana admitted.

"Me too. Not that that news was any better. Now I have to patrol with Potter, too?"

Diana rolled her eyes. "Come on, Lily. Don't change the topic and act like that's the worst thing in the world. Everyone thought—"

"I know what everyone thought," I snapped. "But nothing happened, so there's no reason to dwell on it like something did. I don't want to stop and imagine what it's like to find out another parent's dead, thank you very much."

I didn't. I don't. If something happened to Dad… Even if something happened to Petunia, I don't know what I would do. Would I cry? Would I become empty? Could I still function? I don't know, and I'm not going to sit and ponder my actions in case I really do end up alone. I'm not. I shouldn't have snapped at Diana, and I should have apologized (I didn't—I continued our conversation on when the first Hogsmeade trip should be). Diana knows, though. She knows what happened after my mum died. She knows I hate talking about these things. I hate writing about them, too. I feel like I'm going to throw this journal across the room any minute.

Back to the point. Merlin, can you believe my luck? Can you believe that Potter and I are really going to have to patrol together? Before I figured because we are Head Boy and Girl… Hold on. McGonagall said she doesn't expect any _prefects_ to patrol on their own. That doesn't mean Heads can't. Ha! Looks like I can avoid Potter for just a little bit longer.

* * *

><p><strong>September 5, 1977<strong>

Technically, it's the next day because it is ten minutes until three in the morning. I can't sleep. I can't get the Common Room incident out of my mind. And not because of Potter.

McGonagall walked in and everyone just…froze. No one panicked, per say (at least not verbally or physically), but everyone's minds jumped to conclusions. We all assumed the worst. Sure, no one said anything, but I could tell. Everyone stopped talking. Everyone watched McGonagall as she walked towards me. Everyone started breathing again when she started talking about patrols. Everyone started talking only after she had completely left the room. We all feared the worst.

It wasn't like that a couple years ago. Whenever McGonagall would come in our Common Room, everyone got excited because it usually meant Potter and his friends were going to get in trouble, and that was always exciting. Not anymore.

The part that's keeping me awake is that we did fear the worst. Because of how we are living now, we expect these things to happen. Why does death and murder and missing people and orphans have to be so common? That's not the way it should be. Students shouldn't have to fear seeing their professor because it means their parent was killed. That's not how it should work.

But that's how it is. That's how it's happening. I can't seem to wrap my head around it. How could one wizard cause so much fear and pain? Why is he doing it all? Why hasn't he been stopped yet?

The part that keeps me up the most, the part I can't seem to stop thinking about, is that, with every fiber of my being, I want to stop You-Know-Who. I don't know how, I don't know if I can, but I want to. Is that supposed to be scary, Professor? Are you allowed to be scared to do something your heart is screaming at you to do? If I'm so sure I want something like this, why doesn't the rest of me feel so completely sure?

Why do I start thinking about these emotional, life-changing things at night when I should be sleeping? I'm going to be a vegetable tomorrow if I don't get some rest now. I've got Potions tomorrow, too. If I'm not wide awake, I'll hear fifty comments about it from Professor Slughorn.

"Write honestly about what you fear"—check.

* * *

><p><strong>(Actual) September 5, 1977<strong>

More professors emphasized the importance of N.E.W.T.s. I don't know what to write about unless I am bashing Potter. That seems to be difficult considering we're still ignoring one another. I never thought I'd say it, but I would probably pick the typical Potter over this one. They're both pretty awful, though. Our first patrol is tomorrow. Only if you dragged my rotting carcass would you be able to get me to patrol with him.

This journal thing is still a stupid idea.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

I've got patrols soon, and I was going to do something with Mary and Diana, but Mary is off with Ben and Diana is writing in her own journal. Silly journals. She suggested I write in mine, too. Might as well, since currently all the other torture tools are being used.

Potions used to be my favorite class. Even more than Charms. Potions just seems so easy to me. Severus and I are—pardon the arrogance—easily the best in Potions. We would partner up whenever we could, and—this is just an assumption—Slughorn seemed to prefer partner assignments much more after he saw Severus's and mine creations.

Now that Severus and I (obviously) stopped partnering up, sharing tidbits, and good-naturedly competing, Potions is now just another class. Sure, I'm still good at it, and yeah, it is better than Ancient Runes or Transfiguration, but still. It's just Potions.

When I walked into the familiar, chilly room, Professor Slughorn grinned broadly and practically wobbled to me. (That's kind of mean of me to say, huh? Especially considering how kindly he treats me. I take it back then.) "Lily! Why, you've grown into a lovely young lady over the summer. I hardly recognized you for a moment!" I blushed. I hadn't changed, not really. "An old student of mine just started working in the Ministry of Magic on the research committee for new and effective potions. He is a handsome bloke and owes me a favor. I'm sure you two—"

Er… Was Slughorn trying to set me up? Yikes. "I take to heart all your advice, Professor, but I think trying your hand at matchmaking sounds like a disastrous idea, sir," I said.

Slughorn laughed. "I've missed your cheek, Miss Evans! But you're right—I could never find a gentleman worthy of your expertise!"

I hoped no one heard that. Slughorn loves it when I'm straightforward with him, though. He says I'm cheeky. Mostly it's just me saying what I really think. Yet when I say it with a smile, he eats it up.

"But of course! Oho—Mr. Black! It's so good to see you again. Tell me…" Professor Slughorn moved on to Black, who just walked in with Potter and Remus. Black's almost a special project of his. Despite Slughorn's insistences, Black refuses to be a member of the Slug Club. (Oh, right. That's the name of the group of students Slughorn gathers because… All right, it's his favorites. I wouldn't have joined, but I heard he has great connections. Being a Muggleborn, I don't have much of those.) Anyway, Black won't participate, except for the occasional party, but he's more of a crasher than a guest. I expect it's because he truly does like doing the opposite of what he's expected to do.

The tables are arranged in groups of four. I sit with Mary, Marlene McKinnon, and Marlene's sister Kara. Their other sister is Josceline. Since they're all in Hufflepuff, the triplets are pretty close. Usually it's them and Jane. Josceline isn't in this class, though. Neither is Jane.

We're a pretty small class. The three girls and I. Severus. A Slytherin girl and boy. Black, Potter, Remus. (Pettigrew dropped the class after O.W.L.s. Thank goodness. He was kind of, sort of atrocious.) Two Ravenclaw boys, one girl. Bobby, a Hufflepuff.

"Hi, Marlene, Kara," I said as I sat in my seat. "Did you have a good holiday?"

Kara nodded, a serene smile on her face. "Mum and Dad let us and Josceline go to Spain with Jane. It was amazing."

"Spain? Wow. How long were you there for?"

"A month."

A month in Spain. I caught Mary's eye. How nice it must be to have pureblood money. Not that the McKinnon girls think they're above anyone else. No, nothing like that. They really are very kind to everyone they meet.

"Well, class, shall we begin our first day of seventh year Potions?" Slughorn said, standing at the front of the classroom and broadly grinning. His long mustache even perked up. "Hopefully your summer wasn't too long that you've forgotten our little tradition." Who could forget? Every year Slughorn challenges us to make a difficult potion, and the one with the best concoction wins a (usually pretty valuable) potion. Severus won last year, damn him.

"Unfortunately, I don't have any potions to show you today." Last year, he had brewed Polyjuice Potion and made us all smell the gag-inducing potion. "You've already heard and seen the best of them, and if you haven't… Well, you will this year." He smiled.

"Now, I had said that by the end of your N.E.W.T. year you would be capable of making the potions I've showed you through the years. And you will. In fact, we'll begin brewing one particularly tricky N.E.W.T. level potion. But first…"—Slughorn leaned forward as if sharing a secret—"another friendly competition to start off the year!" Has Potions class really even started if we don't go through this? "The prize is"—he pulled a bright purple bottle from inside his robes—"a bottle of Coro Fortitudo." I'm embarrassed to say I had never heard of it. Severus had, apparently, because out of the corner of my eye I saw him hastily straighten up. "Does anyone know what this is? I assume you do, Mr. Snape."

"It strengthens your magical core," he said, a hunger in his eyes.

"Correct! When a witch or wizard drinks this, his or her center increases. That isn't to say that a first year will suddenly be capable of N.E.W.T. level spell work, but if, say, one of you were to drink it, your magical capabilities will be sharpened. Your spells will be more powerful, you will be more capable, things like that." I looked at the potion. Sure, it sounds great, but when could we actually use it? Assuming that… "Unfortunately, the use of this potion is not permitted for exams or schoolwork of any kind. It is unlikely any employers would encourage use of this brew either, unless you were an Auror, perhaps."

An Auror. Huh. I'm sure something like this would be useful since they capture dark wizards. Why don't they just… "Coro Fortitudo takes six months to brew, which is why I am offering this to the student who proves they deserve it. If you turn to page two hundred and seven in your copies of _Advanced Potion Making_, you will see the instructions to create the Ageing Potion. You can retrieve your supplies from the closet, and you will have the entire class to work. Now… may the best brewer win!"

Everyone else rushed to the cabinets, but I took my time and read the instructions. It was a long potion, and especially tricky. _Add three dandelion roots, thinly chopped, to the left side of the cauldron while stirring. Stir horizontally seven times. Sprinkle in exactly three wings of lacewing flies. _I scribbled adjustments in my book, a habit I picked up from Severus, before going to get the ingredients.

Quickly, the room filled with silvery vapor and a disgusting odor I presume was from the toadstools. Marlene and Kara do well in potions, although they never win because they are so preoccupied quietly and slyly helping the other. Slughorn never notices—or if he does, he doesn't say anything. It doesn't really matter: they're E, sometimes A workers, not O. Mary struggles. When she tries so hard to get it right, she focuses solely on a particular step, and then she forgets to do the next one. If she relaxes and just does the potion, she can be amazing. Overall, though, the class does well. We're N.E.W.T. level for a reason.

I stirred my black mixture for one hundred and thirty taps of my foot. The Slytherin girl, Ana Marie, a prefect, tied her black hair up with a tad too much aggression. Her potion was brown and bubbling over. Bobby's face was shiny with sweat as he carefully cut the knotgrass. Potter's hair was sticking up even more, but it got bushy, nearly frizzy. It was not a good look for him. Black casually stirred his potion, watching everyone else in the room. Remus snapped at him, and Black jolted up before hastily throwing something silver in his cauldron.

I peered into my cauldron to see it was grey. It was supposed to be a glittering silver. I frowned. Where had I gone wrong? I had crushed the dandelion roots instead of cutting them, but that was supposed to make it easier to dissolve. The last step was to add a sprig of mint, directly in the center, and let it set for a minute. What did I need to do now?

Even though I had pointedly looked everywhere except at him, I chanced at glance at Severus. He was slowly pouring his potion, a perfect silver, into a vial. He lightly smiled. He knew he won. Bloody hell, he's not supposed to win. After he stuck the stopper in the vial, he looked up and caught my eye. I hastily looked away. No way was he going to win this year. I turned back to my potion and twisted my finger around my necklace.

"Lily?" Mary whispered. "Help." I looked at her cauldron. Her potion wasn't terribly off course, but it was too thick and still black, but with splotches of silver. Her bottom lip stuck out as she continued her circular stirs, and her hair was falling out of its ponytail.

"Try choppily stirring." I made harsh horizontal and vertical movements in my own cauldron. "It should separate the ingredients more evenly and get them to react quicker."

She nodded and started to do so. I turned back to mine. I had no idea what to do. I added the mint anyway, to see if it would get my somewhere. It turned the liquid only the slightest shade closer towards silver. I knew I had added everything correctly. It should have been cooperating. The ingredients should have been reacting…

_If you can't figure out why it's not working, add a leaf of aconite. The poison in it amplifies everything. If that doesn't work, nothing else will_, Severus had said.

_Oh bloody hell._ I looked over at him again. Slughorn was there, and he clapped Severus on the back, saying something with a smile on his face. He had obviously succeeded. But just because he had didn't mean I couldn't. I could figure something else out.

Yet no other method seemed to work. Stirring did nothing. No other ingredients seemed likely. Class was going to end in ten minutes. Just because I followed something Severus had told me didn't mean he was helping me. It didn't. I hurried to the closet and searched through the faded brown boxes for aconite. When I saw the lilac of the flowers in the back, I ripped the box out, nearly spilling a container of newt eyes, and plucked off a leaf.

Back at my desk, I dropped the leaf in and waited. And waited. And then it was like the sun had risen over my potion. It got lighter and lighter, and then it began to sparkle. Diamonds were filling my cauldron—or so it looked. It was better than Severus's. I smiled proudly. I had done better. I started to clear up.

A few minutes later, Slughorn said, "Time is up! I will now evaluate all of your potions." He grimaced at some, nodded approvingly at others, and did other stuff I wasn't really paying attention to because I was too busy thinking about my potion.

Oh, who cares? Hex me for feeling good about myself. Whatever.

The point is, that by the time Slughorn reached my group, he peered in my cauldron and looked, not saying a word. Then he looked again. And then he mixed it. Only when he started sniffing it did I start to feel nervous. Did I overestimate it? What if it's supposed to be only shiny? Not glittery? Did I fail?

Slughorn backed away. "Miss Evans, you never fail to impress me!" My heart soared. "This Ageing Potion is better than the one I had to make a few years back. The color… Look at it! It almost looks as if you liquidized diamonds. It smells exactly as it should, too. I'm sure if I took a sip of this potion, I would age precisely how I was supposed to. Of course, I won't. I hate to imagine how I'll look in twenty years; I don't think I'd like to see it." He chuckled. "You are the deserving winner, Miss Evans." He pulled out the purple bottle again and handed it to me.

"Really?" I squeaked, too excited to try to control myself. Me! I won! Merlin… Coro Fortitudo!

Slughorn smiled at me proudly. "Really, m'dear." He pulled a sparkling gold pocket watch out of another of his pockets. "Goodness, look at the time! Class, clear up your area. No homework today, but just this once."

"Congrats, Lily," Marlene said.

"You deserve it," Kara added.

I smiled at them. "Thanks, guys." When everyone was exiting the room and it was just Mary and I again, I muttered, "Sweet success."

Mary giggled. "You're just glad you wiped the floor with Snape."

I shrugged. It's true. "Perhaps. But still… _Coro Fortitudo_!"

"I've never heard of it before today, to be honest."

"Me neither, which is surprising. I mean, when he was telling us about it? It sounds wonderful."

Mary nodded. "When would you use it?"

"Dunno. I guess I'll just wait for the right opportunity."

"True… Seriously, though, Lils." She stopped and smiled at me. "Good job."

I automatically grinned back. "Thanks. Hey, you too. Your potion was a lot better this time." We finally reached the end of the stairs we had been walking up and turned left, making our way towards the Great Hall to meet Diana.

She waved her hand in the air. "Hardly. I would have been completely off if not for you. I just can't seem to get the hang of Potions…" She tugged on her bangs before pushing them behind her ear.

"You will. You'll get better."

"Yeah, well, we can't all be perfect like you." She shoved me, and I knocked into a boy—fourth year, I think—who looked right pleased that my body had just fallen on top of him.

Uh, no thanks. I pushed Mary back, ignoring the boy. "Piss off."

When I told Diana about Potions, she rolled her eyes and said she wasn't very surprised. Which in itself is a compliment.

When I got back to my room, I tried to find a good spot to stick my prize. A part of me wanted to place it on my nightstand so I could look at how pretty the deep blue liquid was, especially when the light caught it just right and it looked like dissolved sapphires. All I could see, though, in my mind was an owl flying in through my window and spilling the entire potion on the floor.

I dug to the very bottom of my trunk until I pulled out a sunflower yellow purse. Severus got it for me for my thirteenth birthday. I haven't used it in ages, but it is a splendid purse. He adapted it so anything can fit inside, but there's also a cushioning charm around it, so I know nothing can break the glass vial inside. I stuck it in a pocket inside and then hung the purse in my wardrobe, but at the very back so I won't have to look at it much.

In all honesty, winning the potion isn't the reason I'm so happy. It's—Oh shit. I'm going to be late for patrols. Whatever, Potter's going to be even more late.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

Potter and I were supposed to meet in the prefect room—basically an unused classroom now filled with a large table, a bunch of chairs, a decaying couch, and the giant calendar. It's where we have our meetings. I arrived right at eleven. I should have just left and started rounds on my own, but I wanted to make sure Potter eventually showed up. He did—ten minutes late. Edward Brinley and Josceline McKinnon, the Ravenclaw Prefects, had already left for their rounds.

He casually strutted in, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and he didn't look the least bit concerned he was late. Not a bit.

No, instead, his eyes were relaxed, and his pink lips were slightly curved up, as if someone had just told him the most splendid joke. I wanted to hex him.

"How nice of you to show up on time."

Potter grinned. "Sorry, I had some business I need to take care of."

"More important than your duties as Head Boy?"

"Most definitely."

I stared at him. He's got to be kidding. He couldn't be serious. What is _wrong_ with him? "Don't expect me to shed a tear when they rip that Head Boy badge off your robe. Now, we patrol until midnight. You can do the second and third floors of the castle, and I'll do the first and the dungeons."

"Hang on. Aren't we supposed to patrol together?"

"No."

"McGonagall said—"

"McGonagall said prefects need to patrol in pairs. Heads don't have to."

His eyebrows rose behind his spectacles. "She actually said that?"

"I said it. I'm not patrolling with you."

He pushed himself off the desk he was leaning on and crossed his arms. "Fine, it doesn't matter to me. I can bunk off easier then. I was hoping to turn in early tonight."

"Don't you dare, Potter," I growled.

"I'm joking, Evans. Merlin. Do you even know how to laugh?"

"I've been laughing ever since I found out you were Head Boy."

Potter genuinely laughed in response. "Good one! Glad to see that sense of humor is finally developing."

"Must be your great influence," I said.

"It turns out being your partner hasn't sucked all the happiness out of me yet."

"Are you comparing me to a Dementor, Potter?"

He lifted his hands in the air innocently. "You said it, not me."

What a slick git. "I feel like I'm in Azkaban when I'm in this room with you. Give it more time. You'll realize how miserable this really is soon enough." I smiled sweetly before quickly exiting the room.

Patrols were mind numbingly boring. The most eventful part was when I heard some disgustingly loud panting coming from a broom closet. After I braced myself, I ripped open the door to find William and a sixth year Slytherin girl I had recognized only from the occasional passing in the corridors snogging the living daylights out of each other. Thankfully, they had all their bits and pieces covered up, but barely. Only looking at them straight in the eyes for fear of seeing things I didn't want to, I told them to head back to their Common Rooms, and ten points from Ravenclaw and Slytherin. But when I realized they were still panting as I lectured them about curfew, I took five more. Merlin. Did anyone have any decency?

After that, I just walked around, waiting until midnight and thinking about today.

"How about you try thinking a bit harder?" a voice quipped from my side.

I turned to see Sirius Black coming towards me, arms casually dangling at his sides, long black hair shining, walking around as if he had zero care in the world. "You aren't supposed to be outside of the Tower this late, Black," I said.

He nodded. "All right." As he stood in front of me, I realized we could act no more different—me trying to be a firm leader, he looking as if it didn't even affect him if I knew what he was doing or that it was breaking school rules.

"I'm going to have to give you a detention."

"I wouldn't go."

He wouldn't. "You'd have to eventually."

"But until then, you would be setting aside time to ensure I went to my detention, when I probably never would."

I glared at him, but I could see myself day after day appointing his detention, only to wait for him to show up—which he never would.

"So I would say detention's out of the question, yeah?" he said smoothly as if reading my mind.

"Then I'll just take points." I walked ahead to let him know there was no question about his punishment. He didn't get the message.

"Except that I'm sure that since this is your last year at Hogwarts, you really would like to win the House Cup, just once."

I faltered. He's right. That would be nice.

"Which means taking points is unlikely, too."

"Gee, I wonder how Gryffindor's managed to have the least amount of points for six years straight, and the first time Gryffindor was last for three decades mysteriously happened only after you and your mates came to Hogwarts." I pointedly looked at him.

He shrugged. "It's Wormtail's fault."

"Peter's?" Yeah, right.

"We've got to entertain him somehow." He flicked a strand of his long black hair out of his face. "Isn't it nice knowing you can control that now?"

"What? Peter? You? I could only ever dream of controlling you and your mates."

"Fair point, but I meant who wins the House Cup. All you've got to do is take points from the troublemakers in the other Houses and let the Gryffindors be."

I gasped. "I would never abuse my power like that!"

"Then why haven't you taken points from me yet?" he asked smugly.

"Two points from Gryffindor!" I snapped.

Black smirked. His eyes were glinting as if to say, _Two? Really?_

"Where were you anyway?" I asked him.

"Around."

"Were you keeping Potter company?"

"Merlin, no, I don't like him that much." Involuntarily, I laughed. A little laugh. Practically a baby laugh! But I laughed at something Black said.

"You have a nice laugh, Evans," he said. I don't. It's obnoxious and almost always too loud. You can especially tell when I finish laughing, though, because there's this great silence like, _Lily's annoying laugh was taking up all that sound._

"Don't try to change the subject, Black. Where were you? Were you snogging it up with some bird?"

"Snogging it up?" He snorted. "No. Speaking of, aren't you supposed to be patrolling with Prongs?"

I'm still not quite sure what the 'speaking of' was in reference to. "Aren't you supposed to be in your room at this hour?"

Black grinned. He had a nice smile, although I hate to admit it. He walked with me for a few more minutes before we reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the entrance to our Common Room. Before he went in and I continued the long boring task of simply walking, he said, "Let's just say I came to keep you company, all right?" And then he left me alone. As I patrolled the rest of the floor, I realized Sirius was right: I did want Gryffindor to win, and that's why I went easy on him. Bugger.


	4. It's Not That Difficult

**Happy New Year, everyone! I hope everyone had an awesome Christmas and New Year. I've actually spent a LOT of time writing over my break, and lemme just say that I am super excited for this fic now! In the beginning I might have seemed all meh but I've really got solid direction for this and I just wanna have it all magically written and post it now, haha. Anyway, if you are reading this, please review and tell me what you think, positive or negative feedback! When I posted the last chapter there was a little bit where I thought no one was reading it anymore and that's not a fun feeling. So please please review!**

* * *

><p><strong>September 7, 1977<strong>

Do you know what happened, Professor? Probably not. But do you know whose fault it is? It's yours. Because you came up with this silly idea to keep journals and write down all our thoughts and feelings and actions. All right, fine, you want us to experience life and come to terms with ourselves through the forced action of writing everything down and being "honest with whom we are," or whatever you said. Okay, I get it. I'm not a fan, but fine. The part that riles me is that you told the entire student body to go ahead and steal another person's personal belongings! When I say personal belongings, I don't mean like their favorite pair of shoes. No, I mean _personal_. Because you have required us to actually record our feelings and while I'm not barmy enough to put anything down I wouldn't care if the whole student body read, some people are thick enough to actually write down secrets about themselves and leave the journal lying around. People like Melanie Whitaker.

Merlin help that child.

I've heard quite a few variations, but the most credible story came from Mary, who was in the library when she heard Evelyn Alban and another girl—student currently unidentified—talking about how upset Melanie is that her whole journal got around. What they said… Well, it's got the best of all the other stories, but Evelyn is a good friend of Melanie, so… I'll simply relay what I heard from Mary.

Aforementioned, Melanie Whitaker and William Wenlock are an interesting couple. They started dating Valentine's day third year, and they've been in love and in hate regularly since then. (I know specifically because Valentine's Day is always miserable with them.) Typically, this is how it goes: Some petty argument erupts, the two break up, Melanie publicly snogs a bloke, William gets with a fit girl for revenge, it goes on for a bit, but in the end, they end up back together. And repeat. This time, however, something big happened. Don't ask me, I don't know what. Usually they'll tell anyone they can what the horrible, terrible thing the other did, but this time, no one knows. All anyone knows is that they broke up before sixth year ended, and they still aren't together again. That's why Mary said William doesn't care about Quidditch, only Melanie, and that's why William was doing some heavy snogging that night I caught him and What's-Her-Face.

Onto the gossip: Melanie had been working on something in the library, but when she finished, she left behind her journal. Enter a nosy, inconsiderate fifth year boy who picked it up…and read it. He then passed it on to his friends. They passed it on. Those people passed it on. Eventually, the book made its way through a lot of people. No one really knows where it is now, but this did happen only this morning, and it's now two o'clock in the afternoon.

It turns out, Melanie is actually really daft, because she wrote everything she could have possibly written that she really shouldn't have. She wrote about her relationship with William. This includes where they've…defiled the castle, and how much she misses him, and what exactly she misses about him. (Was she planning to turn that in to you? Circe almighty, what if she did?) Luckily, desperation has not been listed in the adjectives of Melanie. While she clearly still loves him, she also hates him. She wrote about how much she hates him, all of the things he does that irks her, and all the people she's snogged to get back at him, with detailed comparisons. Rumor has it that Sirius Black is a fierce competitor. I knew he was sneaking around to meet a girl.

But she also recorded some of his secrets she was the only to know about. Even though they clearly have some issues, she never told a soul his secrets. But now everyone knows. They were big ones, too. They were secrets you would never want going around the school. For example, Melanie wrote about how occasionally William's father would actually hit William sometimes.

To give her some credit, Melanie didn't write all this down in a list titled 'William's Secrets'. She wrote about that secret because sometimes late at night she got so scared for William, but she didn't know what to do for him. And the not knowing and not being able to help broke her heart.

I barely know Melanie and I feel my heart breaking for her.

You should feel bad, too, sir. That little boy may have looked at the diary and maybe he would have shown his friends, but it would not have gotten to this proportion if you hadn't told everyone that you could do nothing to protect their journals, and you wouldn't stop anyone from snatching another's. This is your fault, and if Melanie and/or William personally check themselves out of Hogwarts, we'll know whom to blame.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

I'm sorry. I'm having a bad day. I don't want to write about it.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

You wouldn't believe what happened. As Diana and I were walking down to dinner (Mary was with Ben—again), we saw a large group of boys snickering in the corner of the Common Room, their heads bent over something. Thinking it was a banned item or something of the sort, I marched over with the clear intention of taking it away with a stern look. Turns out, it was Melanie's journal.

One boy pointed his dirty finger at one particular sentence, and the others nearly keeled over with laughter.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, towering over them. They looked up at me, fear in their faces. I scanned the group to see it was a mixture of fourth, fifth, and sixth years. Luckily, not one of them was a prefect. Good. They would've really had it.

"Nothing," said a skinny boy quickly.

I raised my eyebrows.

"We're reading," said a second boy. His name's Turner Wash, a Beater for the Quidditch team. He's certainly a stocky fellow. "Something wrong with that?"

"Unless it's your property, then yes, there is. Hand it over right now." They didn't. "Twenty points from Gryffindor!" I barked. A mixture of groans came from those still in the Common Room.

"Twenty!" said the boy. "Professor Malek said—"

"He said we are to protect these journals and that anything could happen to them. He didn't say he encourages thievery, nor did he say he encourages blatant mockery of others. If you disagree, though, I can take you to see Dumbledore. I'm not quite sure he'd like to be disturbed with the fact that insolent students are refusing to comply to the Head Girl and bullying fellow students, but if we must—"

The boy shoved the book into my outstretched hand as fast as he could. He didn't look happy about it, but he did it. I nodded and then said loud enough for the rest of the Common Room to hear, "If I find out that Gryffindors are discussing this journal and its contents, I will give them a detention—without question." I pulled Diana out of the Common Room through the deafening silence. Potter wasn't there. I wish he had been.

"Blimey, Lily, who knew you were so badass?"

I grimaced. "Can you imagine having all of that displayed to the world? God, people can be so rude."

"I think I would die," said Diana.

I peered at her. "Why? Have you written really personal stuff?"

She shrugged and pulled her hair into a bun. "Sort of. Isn't that what we're supposed to do? Have you?"

"We're just supposed to fill it. And no, I haven't written about anything important. Just my burning dislike for Potter."

I purposefully didn't look at her, but I know she rolled her eyes at me. "You have got to get over that."

"Not very likely," I muttered.

When we entered the Great Hall, Mary was nowhere to be found, but then again, neither was Ben. We sat down (I put Melanie's journal in my lap) and my stomach grumbled. I had slept in and skipped breakfast this morning. I gave myself a generous helping of mashed potatoes and chicken. Diana filled her plate with lettuce and began to eat it—with minimal dressing. I looked at her with disgust.

"What?" she said, taking small bites of her 'food'.

"Why are you eating your salad like that? It's disgusting."

"It is not. It's _healthy_."

"Healthy does not mean good. Here, have some more dressing." I reached to grab the dish so she could have _something_ on her salad, but she swatted my hand away.

"No. This is good."

I rolled my eyes. "It's gross and you know it."

"I am being healthy, Lily. Some people tend to try out that lifestyle." She rudely eyed my plate.

I purposefully put more potatoes on it. "Some people enjoy food. Besides, what's the point?"

"The point is that three different boys have asked me out since we've started school."

"What!" I yelped. Three? Merlin…three! No boy has even tried to flirt with me…not even Potter. I shoved a forkful of potatoes in my mouth. Mary is off gallivanting with her boyfriend, Diana is being adored by the male population, and not even Potter is interested in speaking to me. My mood plummeted even more.

Diana nodded proudly, her blue eyes sparkling. "Yup. Edward asked me to go to the first Hogsmeade trip this morning, but I told him—"

"Has Alex-?"

"No." Alex is a sixth year Gryffindor. Diana doesn't like to discuss him and his feelings for her. Mary and I love to discuss him.

"And what happened to Vaughn?"

"Oh, he was nice, but I just think—"

"What do you mean this is my fault?" a high-pitched voice screamed. "You…you…selfish prick!"

I looked towards the source of the sound—the entrance of the Great Hall—as did everyone else in the room. As if the screamer had been waiting for the attention of all the students, a great crack then erupted. Assuming who I thought it was, Melanie had really just given it to William. A few people jumped out of their seats to witness the event, but I was already hurrying out of the room, barking at them to sit back down.

I made it to the entryway just in time to see Melanie burst into tears and run away. William appeared to crumble.

"Melanie, wait!" He started to hurry after her, but Evelyn and Victoria (another seventh year Ravenclaw), who had followed me out, rounded on him.

"You stay away from her," hissed Victoria. They ran after their crying friend, and William stood there, helpless and unsure, before storming off into the other direction.

When I walked back into the Great Hall, everyone was chattering about what had happened. The professors at the front of the room looked unsure of what to do. You weren't there, Professor Malek. If you were, I probably would have given you a very dirty look—one I would end up regretting.

I slumped back down into my seat across from Diana. "I knew these journals were a terrible idea."

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

I haven't seen Melanie yet to return her journal. I expect she's hiding out in her dormitory. (That's what I would do.) I could always give her journal to a fellow Ravenclaw to give to her, but at this point, even I don't know who would be trusted with it.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

I wonder what's in it, anyway…

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

No, no, no, no. I will not look.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

So I might have accidentally flipped to a random page, and it might have been about how "yummy" William is. (I feel that I need a douse of water just from writing that word.) That's what I get for spying.

No judging, though, Professor. You're the one who started this madness.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

Mary came back from her pseudo date with Ben after dinner, gushing about how much she loved being with him. She got a bit fidgety then, and she started to ask our advice on what we thought about love and all that other rubbish. She wanted to know stuff like how someone knew she was in love, what did love really mean, how did you show your love—those kinds of questions. To be frank, I really didn't want to talk about that stuff, let alone listen to it. So I, being the horrible mate I am, told her I had some homework I needed to finish and skirted off into my dormitory, where I currently am, not doing homework. Instead, I am writing in this dumb thing and feeling just a tad guilty. (Yet not guilty enough to return to Mary—oops.)

I didn't even come up here with the intention to write in this stupid thing. Speaking of stupid, I don't think love is stupid, and I don't think marriage and such are overrated and usually I would love to gush with Mary about blokes, love, marriage, romance, a family, but…

I guess I'll just spit it out: Petunia is getting married.

Not officially yet. I got a letter from Dad today. It said:

_Dear Lily,_

_I am so glad to hear that you are enjoying your classes! Congratulations on winning that competition in your Potions class. I'm not surprised you won, however, since you are the best! _

_How have your Head Girl duties been? Has Transfiguration been giving you trouble? If so, I know you'll be able to work it out._

_Things have been going well here. The business is going fine. We were selling more cars than average last month, but so far September hasn't been a great selling month. I'm sure that will change. Margaret says hello. Maybe you should write to her? She hasn't been doing too well lately. _

_Your sister has been going out a lot and working more, but that's not new behavior for Petunia. There is something I wanted to tell you, though. Do you promise not to tell your sister in your next letter? Vernon rang the other day, and when I told him Petunia was out with her friends, he said he was there to speak to me. He told me he loved Petunia very much, and he thought she would make a lovely wife. He asked me for her hand in marriage, Lily! Can you believe that? He doesn't have a ring yet, but I believe he's planning on asking her relatively soon. I'm sure when he does ask, she will say yes. Your mum would have been so ecstatic._

_Tell Diana and Mary I wish them well._

_With love, _

_Dad_

There are a number of things wrong with that letter, Professor. To start, Margaret. Dad didn't have a very good home life as a boy, so he was pretty much on his own as a kid. When he turned of age, instead of going to university, he asked for a job at an automobile lot, Carr's Lot. Margaret ran the place with her husband Stephen, who saw that Dad was a hard worker down on his luck, and gave him a job. Stephen and Margaret became like Dad's parents. Stephen died when I was really little, so Margaret, without kids, eventually gave the business to him. She still works there, but Dad runs it. She was especially there for my dad, Petunia, and I after Mum died. Margaret's like my grandmother, since I don't know my dad's parents, which is fine by me, I suppose. To hear that Margaret is "not doing well" puts me in a—well—completely awful mood. I refuse to think anything is wrong other than a common autumn cold.

Also, why does my father say things like, 'Don't tell your sister in your next letter to her'? It's almost as if he is oblivious to the fact that Petunia does not like me, nor does she wish to communicate with me. Sorry, Dad, but have you even been around for the past seven years? Open your eyes and take a look at all the lovely resentment and prejudice bubbling beneath the surface between your kids.

She's getting married. Petunia, that is. Granted, she hasn't been asked yet, but I know she will say yes. Vernon will wait the sensible amount of time to ask her, and then she will say yes, and then she will wait the sensible amount of time to actually get married, and then they will wait the sensible amount of time to have a child, and then they will go on with their sensible lives and I will not be a part of them. It's not that I don't like Vernon. I haven't seen much of him, honestly, to make a decision. I know he makes Petunia happy, so that's one positive thing about him, but I also know he's very serious about being proper and order, which is quite the negative.

Petunia's marriage to someone like Vernon, someone who scoffs at the "loons" of today (Muggle hippies), could really only drive us farther apart. But then if I married a wizard, would she be thinking the same thing?

I guess I haven't really explained why Petunia and I are the way we are. Really, it all comes down to the fact that I'm a witch and she's not. When we were younger, it didn't bother Petunia that I was different. Once I met Severus, though, and he told me all about this world, she couldn't stand it. In hindsight, I did nearly abandon her, choosing to spend all my time with Severus learning about witches and wizards instead of with my sister. And even though she probably felt lonely, Petunia was jealous, too. Maybe not anymore, but she had wanted to go to Hogwarts. Severus and I found a letter from Dumbledore addressed to her. She had written and begged to go to Hogwarts with me. I didn't stop to think about it then. It just sounded so good: me and my two best friends (my sister and Severus) at a school for magic together. Petunia realized sooner than I did that, no matter what, she simply couldn't go to Hogwarts.

I think when she realized that it was impossible for her to truly be included in my world, she chose to keep herself out of it. I tried to show her that just because she wasn't a witch didn't mean we couldn't keep each other in our lives. I wrote to her, with no responses; I didn't talk about school with her around; I limited my time with Severus on the holidays. It didn't matter to Petunia, though, and she kept her distance, saying she didn't want a freak for a sister. By third year, I had enough of it, and I stopped trying. Kind of.

Anyway. Back to the letter. Can you believe what Vernon said to my dad? I'm sure Dad didn't write it word for word, but Vernon is the type of responsible, business-like man to say "Sir, I love your daughter, and she would make a lovely wife. May I have your permission to marry her?" There's nothing wrong with that, per say, but how bland does it sound? My future husband must do better than that. Vernon also likes normalcy as much as Petunia, and he doesn't know I'm a witch. Petunia refuses to tell him. Again, I don't know much about Vernon—maybe he has multiple layers to him?—but I feel like once Petunia marries Vernon—poof! There goes any hope for us. I really won't fit into her life anymore.

She loves Vernon, he loves her, and they are going to get married. It's that simple.

But you know what, Professor? I don't think I'll get to be a part of the wedding.

* * *

><p><strong>September 9, 1977<strong>

After you assigned this journal project, no one thought Defense Against the Dark Arts class would be good. It would be reasonable to say people even dreaded having to return to that class. Yet by class five, nearly everyone was enjoying DADA.

In the past, we did a lot of discussing and lecturing, and we picked up our wands not nearly as often. You have a different approach. Every class involves the students getting out of their desks and practicing what we learned. Sometimes, the spells are so challenging, no one can get it. Other times, we're practicing jinxes and charms we learned ages ago. Either way, there's little written homework, only to practice what we learned in class that day. If anything, you expect us to grasp the spells and concepts more quickly.

When the mixture of seventh years walked into your classroom today, the chairs and desks were still in the room, but they were sporadically placed. It seemed that if they had been arranged, it was with one purpose: make it hard to get through the room. Easy enough, since I'm pretty sure you added more desks than normal to the mix. You stood at the front, smiling at us. To be honest, most of us still think you're loony, and a few are resentful that you actually meant it when you said we had to fill the journals (me), but you really are a nice professor.

(I'm not just saying this to get a good grade.)

(But it shouldn't hurt, right?)

A few seventh years tried to make their way to the desks. Their bags were swinging into the desks and one bloke even tripped. Mary snickered next to me. Diana was too busy talking to Philippe to notice or care.

"No, no," you said. "Everyone please just stand near the door. I'll explain the lesson today when the entire class is here."

"I wonder what we're doing today," said Mary as we waited. We shuffled to the side as the Ravenclaws entered the room. Ben appeared so suddenly he might as well have Apparated. He put his hand around Mary's shoulders.

"I'm betting it's pointless," he said, his brown hair falling in his eyes. "We'll probably have to try to run through the desks while he shoots sparks at us."

I didn't miss the contempt in his voice. Neither did Mary. She nudged him. "Malek's good."

He shrugged. "I guess, if you like learning everything we learned in fifth year again. I want to be challenged. My father said he was learning way more advanced magic at Durmstrang when he was our age."

I don't know why, but there's something about Ben that sets me off. I think it's the way that while yes, he is nice, it's usually only to your face and if he genuinely likes you. He's got a habit of complaining about others, as if they are personally weighing him down. Mary says it's not that bad, but that he just likes to share his opinions. Diana and I disagree.

To be honest, I didn't like how he talked about you, Professor. He made it seem like you're inept as a teacher. Maybe I was even feeling a little guilty since I had already complained about you in regards to your project. Maybe I just thought Ben was being a giant git. Whatever the reason, I had a smart remark on the tip of my tongue, when Potter called out, "Oi! Wormtail!" What he was calling for, I don't know, but I turned to look at him. When I did, I remembered all the attacks I had made on him, and I swallowed my comment. I turned back to Ben. "Agree to disagree," I said sweetly, almost too much so. I angled my back away from them and moved towards the side.

I stood by myself, waiting for class to begin, secretly trying to guess what the lesson was. Would we have to use a spell that projected ourselves over the desks? I looked around the room again, but this time I caught Potter's eye.

His smile didn't get any bigger, and he didn't ruffle his hair. Thank Merlin he didn't even wink. He just looked at me for a moment, my eyes meeting his. His smile started to fade. I felt myself flush, and then I looked away. Just because I was standing by myself for practically ten seconds did not mean I was going to make silent conversation with Potter. If that could even be considered a conversation.

And what if it was? What was he saying? Probably something along the lines of, _Merlin's beard, Evans have you always looked like that? You could stow your Potions supplies in the bags under your eyes_.

Which, granted, is true, as every time I fell asleep last night, I woke up after dreaming horrible scenes of me being smothered at the stake with flowers and lace.

I moved to stand next to Marlene, Josceline, Kara, and Jane. They were talking about Josceline's Care of Magical Creatures class. (I think. They said "horrendous" and "beast" a lot, so maybe they were just talking about Potter.) Before I had time to see what (or whom) specifically they were discussing, you clapped your hands together and everyone fell silent.

"How many of you have ever attempted to cast a Disillusionment Charm?" you asked, peering at us as if your whole day depended on this answer.

All the students raised their hands. We started practicing them last year. You nodded. "Good, good. So then I don't need to ask someone to tell me what the spell does?" No one said anything. "I have another question then. Does anyone in here plan to become an Auror?" My breath caught. It wasn't that I wanted to be an Auror, per se, but after that night McGonagall came in… I wasn't sure. A Potions expert of some sort seemed like a fine job before, but now… Now I wasn't too sure. I didn't let anyone else catch on to my indecisiveness then, though. I was not about to let the whole castle know my personal conflicts. I was no Melanie.

I was surprised, however, when Marlene McKinnon raised her hand. Marlene an Auror. Huh. She's a pretty girl, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and a perfect nose, and she's always so kind and helpful, I pictured her working as a professor, getting married and becoming a mum. I looked around. No one else's hand followed hers. My stomach twisted. I don't know why.

"Marlene!" you said. "Yes, I can see you as an Auror, quick as you are." She blushed. "Do you know of the training tests witches and wizards go through to become an Auror?"

"A little."

"Can you name any particular area that one must excel in that would perhaps pertain to what we seem to be doing today?"

Marlene looked at the jumble of chairs and tabletops behind you before smiling. "Stealth and Tracking."

"Very good! Thank you." Looking at the entire class again, you said, "Yes, Stealth and Tracking is a very important aspect of being an Auror. We will not be learning about tracking today, but we will test our abilities to be stealthy." You started to pace, your robes awkwardly swishing at your feet as you walked in the small space before the mass of desks. "In Defense Against the Dark Arts, our goal is to learn how to defend ourselves. We consistently think of defending ourselves by various jinxes, hexes, charms—essentially anything that will allow you to engage in a duel with your opponent. Yet there are times where you do not stay to duel. In some instances, the only thing you must do is get out of the situation alive."

I shifted the strap of my bag against my shoulder. How…creepy. I bet we would have paid a bit more attention in class if all our professors told us we would be fighting for our lives after school.

"Today, we will be working in pairs, one at a time. One person will be standing in the middle of the room"—you pointed to a perfect circle with enough space for a grown man to stand in between all the clutter—"while another person will stand precisely where I am. The witch or wizard standing where I am must cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself or herself. The goal is then to get to the other side of the room, directly across from where we are, and cast a jet of red sparks at the student in the middle. The ones standing in the middle, obviously, do not want to get hit. Their goal is to see if they can determine where their opponent is and shoot him with sparks before he reaches the other side. Disillusionment Charms are not perfect, but they are close, depending on the caster. You will need to look carefully, use your ears, and be just as cunning as the hidden one."

I grinned. What a good lesson. It sounds simple, and maybe slightly childish, but still. Yes, we've all snuck around the castle, and yes, we can all cast a Disillusionment Charm, but have we ever been taught to use those abilities in this way? No. If you just collected these journals today, you would very well be my favorite teacher.

"Who wants to go first?"

Philippe and Bobby went first, with Bobby trying to reach the other side. He got close, but he accidentally kicked one of the desks, and Philippe got him. Marlene went against Jane, which was great fun to watch, as Jane is competitive at everything, but Marlene is so…_good_ at Defense. Jane is also quite lean, so she wove between the desks skillfully. I never heard nor saw any part of Jane, but somehow Marlene did, because after nearly a minute of complete silence, she shot Jane directly in the chest. It was quite impressive. Potter and Remus went up next. Remus stood in the middle, his eyes carefully roaming the area for even the slightest shimmer of Potter's outline. It was dead silent and then _crack!_ Potter shot Remus right in the back. I was even more impressed. Jane avoided Marlene so well because she had the stealth and agility; Potter avoided Remus because his Disillusionment was so strong, he might as well have been invisible.

More pairs went. Those trying to prevent their partner from reaching the other side were doing better than those trying to maneuver their way around the desks.

Eventually, it was my turn with Diana as my partner. I stood in front of my classmates and raised my wand to my head, putting every ounce of my being into the charm. I'm hardly lithe and slender; the least I can do is try to be invisible. The feeling of cold water trickling down my neck occurred, and then I disappeared. Sort of.

After pausing for a moment, I slowly made my way to the right. Diana stared at the open spaces like I was getting ready to personally rip out her hair. Fantastic. Considering, well, _me_, I decided to go with the slow and steady option. This worked out fine, until Diana started shooting sparks at random spaces in the air. I decided to hurry up. Yet when I tried to pass through a group of particularly close desks and chairs at awkward angles, my hip bumped into one of the corners of a table. Let me just say, Professor, that while I do apologize for saying, "Bloody-!" right after, it hurt enough for me to say worse than that. Who designed these desks? We're a school for _children_. Someone could lose an appendage on those things!

Diana heard my curse and whipped around. (Her back had been to me, giving me false confidence that I could pass through that labyrinth.) A jet of purple light shot itself toward me. Instinctively, I threw myself to the ground, shoving a multitude of desks away from me with my head, elbows, and left leg. _Ow_.

Another round of sparks raced towards where the desk I shoved with my head had gone, but above. She thought I was still standing. _Perfect_, I thought. But then she kept casting sparks directly above where I was, so any attempt at standing would surely get me hit. Even though I was only a few meters away from where I needed to be, I needed to stand.

_Think, think, think._

I looked around, and just as I was about to make a sad attempt at kicking one of the desks behind me, I caught Potter looking at me. Not at me in that paranoid _is-he-staring?_ way, and not at me as in the general vicinity. He was looking right at me, eye to eye. I was about to roll my eyes in the hopes that he would see it, but he looked at the desks on the other side of the room and then glanced back at me meaningfully.

_Was he trying to tell me my Disillusionment Charm was so bad that-? Oh. _

Angling my wand to the side of Diana, I made one desk slam into another, which slammed into another, creating a domino affect as they awkwardly piled on top of each other. In the time span of the ten seconds that all happened, there was no way I could get over there. On instinct, though, Diana turned to look. That was all I needed.

Feeling an unusual rush in my heart and pain in my hip, I sprinted my way through the desks. By the time Diana had shot sparks all along the other side where the noise was coming from, I was where I needed to be, and she had been shot by my red jet of light.

She scowled and turned to face me, and I lifted the Disillusionment Charm. The class was clapping. You looked very amused, Professor.

Diana walked over to me. "Well done, Lils. Knew I couldn't stop you from getting around me."

"You nearly did."

"I did have your gracefulness on my side, didn't I?" She smirked.

"Well done, Miss Evans!" you said, stepping forward. "Very creative, and certainly not what I was looking for. I am afraid that's all we have time for today." Everyone who hadn't participated groaned. "Your homework is to practice Disillusionment charms on yourselves. Have a good day!"

Everyone left the room with varying tones; some were pleased, others disgruntled, a few bitter. (Ben was one of the bitter ones. He didn't make it to the other side.) Most were excited.

"I was _this_ close to getting you!" said Diana as she, Mary, and I gathered our stuff.

"And I've got the marks to prove it." I inspected my arms. No marks then, but I'm definitely going to have some bruises tomorrow.

"Miss Evans?" you called from behind just as we were leaving the room. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

_Uh-oh. I'm going to get in trouble for breaking the rules, aren't I? How grand._

You were sitting at your desk again, and some of the furniture had been Vanished. I told Diana and Mary to go on without me. Walking back, I passed Potter. Don't ask why I did it, because I don't know, but I smiled at him. I think he saw it, since I was looking at him for a few extra moments, hoping he would feel me looking at him and chance another glance at me, even if in the past he usually earned a scowl. This time, I smiled at him. It was a tiny smile, so maybe he saw it, but maybe he didn't. Either way, I thanked him for his help, and that was all he was going to get.

"Yes, Professor Malek?" I said.

"What are you planning to do after Hogwarts?" you said, your long, spindly hands folded in front of you on your desk. A gold ring glinted on the fourth finger of your left hand. Huh.

"I'm sorry?" I understood what you said; I just didn't know how to answer.

"I know it may seem a ways off, but after school, what career path are you interested in taking? From what I've seen so far, you seem to have everything kept together very well."

_Me?_ Lily Evans has everything kept together? How hilarious, Professor, but tell me, really, what do you want? Because certainly, you can't really think I have it all together! I'm constantly fighting with the Head Boy, my sister isn't speaking to me, I can't sleep at night, Transfiguration is already being bloody difficult, and… Oh, what else? Yes, that's right: I have no idea any more what I want to do when I finish school, but I am leaning towards fighting a murderer. Yet I am so glad that at least you think I have my life put together.

"I…don't know what I want to do," I admitted. No point in telling you all the other flaws of my life. You'll figure it out when you read this disaster.

Your eyebrows raised slightly, but other than that, you kept your composure. I'm glad your disappointment wasn't more prevalent. "Have you ever thought about being an Auror?"

An Auror? No, not me. That's for the people like…Marlene and Frank Longbottom, Head Boy a couple years ago. Not me. "No, I haven't." Even as I said it, though, this picture flashed behind my eyes: Me, with Auror robes, going on missions, learning the best spells and defenses, saving lives… "No, I'm not Auror material," I said firmly.

"That was an Auror move you pulled today. It was sneaky and unexpected. That's the type of things they're looking for."

I flushed. I didn't even think of it on my own. James Bloody Potter did. All I was going to do was kick a desk. That certainly would've gotten me hit. Potter should be the Auror, not me. "I guess it was just luck," I said. "I'm not fit to be an Auror."

You weren't convinced. Something tells me you're not a very good listener to reason. "At least think about it."

I nodded. "Yes, Professor. Goodbye."

Can you imagine me as an Auror? (Well, obviously you can, since you just said so, but can anyone else?) Am I even capable of becoming one? I had saved a bunch of pamphlets from fifth year on potential careers (don't judge me), and an Auror was one. I thought I'd be a good fit at first, but then I realized it only sounded nice because I was feeling particularly hateful towards the current prejudices. I checked before I started writing this, and I am enrolled in all the courses necessary to become an Auror. It wouldn't be a long shot for me to become one…

No, no, no. It would never happen. I just need to stick to the plan. I'm going to get an O on my Potions N.E.W.T. and find a job in that field. Changing everything now will not do me any good, and that's that.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

Oh, and I gave Melanie back her journal. She nearly cried when I handed it to her. I told her some good charms to prevent it from being stolen or opened by anyone else. I seriously hope she uses them.

* * *

><p><strong>September 13, 1977<strong>

Sirius joined me on my rounds again tonight. I'm (usually) doing them on my own. Potter and I meet in the Prefect's Room at the appropriate time, divvy up who will be patrolling what areas, and then we're off. I do not try to make conversation with him, nor he with me. At first, it really bothered me. He is practically ignoring me. It's almost as if _he_ is mad at _me_. But I suppose the quiet is nice.

It was nearing close to midnight, and I wasn't expecting to see Sirius again. He hadn't shown up the last three patrols, and I couldn't help but think that he knew I wasn't going to let him slide the next time. So when I was rounding a corner near the dungeons and nearly collided into someone's chest, needless to say, I was more than a tad surprised.

I screamed, one of those high-pitched screams. At least I kept some of my dignity, because as I was screaming, I pulled my wand out of my robe pocket and pointed it directly at the supposed killer's heart.

Sirius threw his hand forward and covered my mouth. For how much the girls rave of his dreaminess, you'd think his hands would smell a bit cleaner. I paused, thinking there really was a murderer. Sirius looked around, eyes wide, ear cocked to where he just came from.

A few more seconds passed, and the only dangerous aspect of the situation was that it was getting harder and harder for me to breathe. I ripped his disgusting hand away from me.

"_Black!_ What is wrong with you? And why does your hand smell like you've been lying in a pile of dust for the past hour?"

He ignored my questions. What a shock. Truly. I was flabbergasted. "What are you doing screaming like that, Evans? You're going to give a man a heart attack."

"Me? Why are you sneaking around _again_? I told you, you can't be out after curfew!"

"You and every professor here. Are you saying you don't enjoy my company?" He dared to try to look hurt.

"No, I'm saying I don't enjoy you making me think I was about to be attacked any second."

"So you do enjoy my company?" Sirius grinned.

I rolled me eyes. "Go back to the Tower, Black." I quickly walked around the corner Sirius had come around. (I still had to finish patrolling all of the dungeons. You'd think they wouldn't be very big because yes, this is a castle, but no, it's a school. You're wrong. They're enormous.)

"Only joking, Evans," he said. "You look like you could use some company, though."

"No I don't."

"Sure you do."

"Only if you tell me what you're doing down here."

Nothing.

"I wouldn't have pegged this as a place Melanie would meet up with a bloke."

"Melanie?" He wrinkled his nose. "What does Melanie have to do with anything?"

Nice try, Black. "That's who you're meeting up with late at night. I heard you snogged her."

He looked at me, his grey eyes confused. "Melanie Whitaker? Definitely not. That bird is too much drama and not enough… Actually, I don't think any bird is worth what she causes."

"I heard you two kissed."

"Not since fifth year. You know how gossip travels here, Evans. You can't believe everything you hear." He sounded much too pretentious given the situation.

I was about to take five points from Gryffindor and tell him to leave when we rounded another corner and I saw a flash of brown near the back of his trousers. I stopped walking, and when he was a couple of paces ahead of me, I saw a scrap of parchment in his pocket. I snatched it from him.

He whirled around. "Evans, please. I'm not your type."

Idiot. "What's this?" I waved the parchment. "A love letter? I knew you were meeting a girl!"

"No," he scoffed. "I don't do love…or letters. It's blank. See for yourself."

I did. There wasn't even the smallest hint of ink anywhere, but it was rather crumpled, as if it had been opened, folded, and stuffed in small spots numerous times. "Why's it so worn like it's always being carried around?"

He shrugged.

"What, is it something valuable? Is Sirius Black sentimental? Was this the first parchment your mummy ever purchased for you?" I teased, not at all thinking about what I was saying. Or to whom I was saying it. Clearly.

"No," he said easily but with a hint of bitterness. "I would have burned anything she gave me ages ago."

Of course he wouldn't have anything sentimental from his mother. Sirius is a Black, and Blacks are Purebloods, nasty, horrible ones with prejudices as plentiful as their money. Oh, there are the exceptions, of course. There always are. Sirius is one of them. If he ever mentioned his family, it was never positively. He has a brother, Regulus, who is one year behind us, but he's a Slytherin. Diana told me that at first, Sirius tried to get Regulus to see the right way to things, but Regulus wanted nothing to do with it. In the five years that Regulus has been here, I've never seen the two brothers communicate. From what I've heard, his relationship with his parents is even worse.

"Oh." Good one, Lily. Really. Five points for tact and consideration. "Sorry."

"For what?" He seemed genuinely surprised. We started walking again.

"Er, you know, saying that. And…for your family." Too much, too much. "You may be a giant arse, but you don't deserve a family of even bigger arses."

Sirius laughed. "I'm touched, Lily. Tell me: Do you plan to go into counseling after school? You certainly have a way with words."

Ha-bloody-ha. I shoved him. "Revel in it, Black. That's the last time I'll ever be nice to you."

"Not even if I sit in a chair and tell you all about my sad home life?"

Sad home life? It's bad enough for me with Petunia, I can't imagine knowing that no one in your family wants you around. I bite my lip.

He looks over at me. "It was a joke, Evans. Lighten up."

I can't help but ask, "Is it really bad?"

"What? My parents?"

I nod.

"Yeah, but so are all the other gits in the world. You just stay away from them."

"But they're your family! How do you just forget about them?"

"You just do. I don't go home for any of the holidays, and when I did have to leave the school, I would stay at the Potters'. During the summer, I'd talk about how dreadfully Slytherin the house was and how we should redecorate and make it more like my Muggle-loving room."

"Muggle-loving? What, did you…?"

He smiled proudly. "I did. I had Gryffindor posters and pictures of Muggle women and bicycles and everything you could think of that they would hate."

I didn't miss the past tense. "Had?"

"I left. Summer before sixth year. One day it got too bad, so I left."

My curiosity had piqued; my manners had vanished. "What happened?"

He paused, perhaps trying to find his words. "My mum and dad were talking about how proud they are of Regulus, my brother, because he announced he wants to join You-Know-Who." I gasped. "Can you believe it? He was a fifth year, and he'd already signed himself up to be a murderer. I told him if he did, I would be the one he'd eventually have to duel, and I wouldn't be nice about it. They started screaming how I was a disgrace and Regulus was doing the right thing, all that nonsense, and then they spouted idiocy about my mates, about the Potters, Remus, and Peter. I had enough of it, then. I said a giant, 'Fuck you all,' and I've been living with the Potters ever since."

At the time, it seemed so natural for Sirius to be telling me this. I was shocked into oblivion, but not because he was telling me. Shocked because of what he was telling me. Looking back now, I have no idea why he ended up telling me that. It gets odder.

"Do you miss them?" I asked.

"No." I think he said it far too quickly. But that's just my opinion.

"Not even a little? They are your family, after all."

"They aren't my family, Evans," he scoffed. "I just look like them and have their name, and that's bad enough. In the real world, you get to choose your family. I would choose a thousand detentions with McGonagall, who's more of a mum to me than the prig whose blood I share, than a cup of tea with my real mother."

If Sirius really doesn't consider the Blacks his family, I don't have to think long to wonder whom he does consider. Definitely the Potters, especially when I hear Potter and Sirius rave about Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Remus and Peter for sure. Those four blokes are like brothers. They're just fortunate enough to not all belong under one roof, because they surely would have driven any mother barmy by now.

"If it makes you feel any better, my sister hates me, too."

Obviously he hadn't heard this one before. I knew he didn't. I didn't tell anyone about it. "You? Nah, she doesn't hate you."

"Oh, she does. Ever since I turned eleven and got my letter to Hogwarts, she can't even handle being in the same room as me. Because I'm a witch and she's not. She thinks that's my fault. She's more mature about it now, just ignoring me altogether, but at first, she'd tell me how she hated me and how I was a giant freak. It makes a difference when you're the one that's chosen to be forgotten."

Sirius was quiet. Our footsteps echoed against the empty corridors. We had passed through all of the dungeons and, just like I expected, we ran into no one else.

"If she can't accept you for the brilliantly annoying witch you are," he said, "then she's too frigid of a prig to deserve to be your sister."

I laughed. "So eloquent, Sirius. Maybe we should start up a counseling business together."

"_Black and Evans Disastrous Therapy_ does have a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"It's terrible! _Evans and Black_ would be much better."

He waved a hand through the air. "Details, details. What I want to know is, will we have to share a flat above our business? Because I think I would be okay with that." He slyly grinned at me. He even managed to make it look charming.

"You're disgusting, Black. I don't know why I haven't taken points from you yet—for being out past curfew and for being a git."

"Because believe it or not, Evans, you've just now realized that you do, in fact, enjoy my company. Bask in this revelation, because your life is going to get a lot better with me around."

"Never," I say solemnly. We walk up the stairs, and I muse how pleasant it is to be around Sirius when he's not with his mates. Besides all the little comments and smart remarks, he's kind of… (dare I say it) great.

"Sirius?" I said quietly, feeling the unexplainable need to say one last thing. "I think you were right to tell your family to shove it. I'm sorry you have a family like that."

"Thanks, Evans. It's not so bad, really. I've got the Potters and the other blokes. They're the only family I'll ever really need." And then we walked all the way back to the Tower without saying another word.

"Remembrall," said Sirius to the portrait of the Fat Lady, the opening to our Common Room, before walking in first. Always a gentleman, isn't he? I followed him.

"Hey, Padfoot, we were just thinking that tomorrow we should skiv off—"

Sirius cleared his throat as I walked around him to face Potter, Pettigrew, and Remus. I glared at Potter, the one who had been speaking. He didn't even bother to mask his surprise at me coming in with Sirius.

"Er…" Remus looked just as at a loss for words.

"Skiv off lunch tomorrow so we could go to the Quidditch Pitch," lied Pettigrew hesitantly.

My gaze flickered to him. Nice try, Pettigrew. He shrunk down in his armchair. I looked back at Potter. "Did you even do your patrols?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed indignantly. "It's twelve-thirty, Evans. I finished all of patrols a few minutes after midnight and then came back here. What was taking you so long to finish?" Slightly hidden behind his glasses, his eyes were accusingly trained on me. How dare he insinuate anything happened between Sirius and I. But if it riled him up…

"Whatever I did on patrols and whom I did it with is none of your business," I said haughtily. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I've had enough of you, Potter, for the day."

His eyes flashed from me then to Sirius, focusing back on me. "If anyone has had enough of someone, it would be-!" Potter started to say, but Remus shushed him. That boy is a wise one.

I walked towards the girls' staircases. With my foot on the first step, I turned around. "Goodnight, Sirius, Remus. I will see all of you in class tomorrow." I did not further acknowledge Potter because he is Potter, and not Pettigrew because he tried to lie to cover their misdemeanors.

Maybe that was a bit petty, but what can I say? Potter brings out the worst in me. It's like every time I see him say or do something, I get the biggest urge to just yell at and hex him. I don't, though. Which is an improvement. Only because maybe he's marginally improved, too. Anyway, instead of yelling and hexing, I'll just respond in a rude fashion, which I'm sure you've seen from our documented interactions. I probably shouldn't instigate. Old habits do die hard, though.

I didn't realize I had been calling Sirius 'Sirius' until about halfway through writing this. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

* * *

><p><strong>September 15, 1977<strong>

Transfiguration is going bloody horrible. I can't seem to understand anything. How, exactly, does one make inanimate objects come to life? How do you make them do your bidding? How do you make sure they do exactly what you want them to do? What if they don't? You mean because it's magic they have to do what you want? But didn't you just say that you brought an inanimate object to life? If it has life, doesn't that mean it can do whatever it wants? Or is it more of a puppet?

McGonagall has answered all of these questions, and they've all gone right over my head. I would have asked more, but Potter shouted out, "It's not that difficult."

Git.

I Charmed one of my teacups to fly at him. McGonagall looked like she was going to breathe fire when it actually hit Potter and cracked. When I said, "Shut up, you toerag," her expression only got worse. I don't know why I did and said those things. It was very second-year of me.

Why Potter then made my remaining teacups incinerate, on the other hand, accompanied by a smirking, "They weren't being put to good use anyway," is not a mystery at all.

McGonagall didn't give us detention, but she did take fifteen points and said as Heads we better start getting our act together and cooperating, or else we would be the first Heads since 1817 to have the positions taken away from them. Mind you, she said this during class, in front of everyone.

I wanted to die. But only after personally strangling Potter. If I'm forced to suffer because of whatever predicament he has caused, you can bet your entire Gringotts vault I'm dragging his skinny arse down with me.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

I've managed to find a good secrecy charm to prevent anyone from opening my journal and reading it. That way what happened to Melanie will not ever happen to me.

Not that I would actually write personal stuff in here.

This is purely precautionary.

* * *

><p><strong>September 18, 1977<strong>

We had another Prefect meeting yesterday. Potter and I are being respectful to one another, mostly on my account. I won't let him ruffle my feathers, not after what McGonagall said to us last week in Transfiguration.

Granted, I rarely give him the chance to. I don't sit near him in class, and I never make eye contact. I don't even talk to Remus when he is with Potter, and I act indifferent to Sirius, whom I've become rather fond of as he finds me more and more on patrol nights. To be honest, the main reason I have been able to avoid interaction with Potter is that he hasn't done anything. All the previous years, our communication was primarily limited to us arguing, usually started by his wrongdoing and my criticism. But now…he hasn't done anything wrong, not really.

Yes, he will make snide comments to the Slytherins every once in a while or goof off in class with his mates, but those are hardly worth inducing a fight. Most of the time, I really appreciate the occasional crack at the expense of the Slytherins. I've seen him aim a kick or two at Tudor, the cat of the school's caretaker, Filch, but who doesn't?

It's a bit unnerving, really, but I guess it's because I have distanced myself from him so well. With us not doing patrols together and me leaving brief letters in the Common Room dividing all the Head duties (giving Potter the easiest tasks, of course, like sorting through the detentions), I practically never even see him.

Prefect meetings are only every other week, so this was only our second one. It went swimmingly, if I do say so myself. We did the same method as last time: I take charge, then let Potter feel important by saying whatever dimwitted nonsense he comes up with. At least we didn't argue. (Vocally, at least. I had to shoot him a nasty glare when he told everyone to keep doing what they were doing, which was pretending to care about this, and he—of course—shrugged off my look.)

Even our rude banter has fallen flat. Overall, life is quieter than I had expected it to be with Potter as Head Boy. The only problem is, without Potter to write about, I'll have to find another way to mindlessly fill this journal.

* * *

><p><strong>September 19, 1977<strong>

Would you believe that I actually have to patrol with Potter now? I barely can, and I was there to receive the devastating news! And I was doing so well at avoiding him!

I went to the Prefects room to start our patrols feeling less than chipper (patrolling on Saturday nights are awful, and I could already feel the homework weighing me down). Potter was already there, waiting for me. The other prefects were leaving to do the top three floors.

"I'll do the dungeon and the first floor," he said.

"Okay, I'll get the rest," I said pretending to scan the papers on the table so I wouldn't have to make eye contact with him.

He sighed heavily as if he knew what I was doing and it personally offended him before leaving the room. I waited a few moments before doing the same, feeling a bit guilty. It would be nice to have Potter to talk and complain about Head duties with. As I headed down the corridor to the unused classrooms, I hoped Sirius would show up tonight.

I know, I know. It's terrible, but true. He had surprised me four times now, and patrols always went by more quickly with him around. I had given up on trying to figure out what he was doing before he joined me. It's not like he would tell me. But we did talk about other things. Our classes, the Quidditch team, Muggle life, and Sirius always had fascinating stories about the wizarding world. We never talked about our families again, and that I enjoyed.

Thirty minutes into patrols and Sirius had yet to show up, and I figured he wouldn't. He doesn't every time, so it wasn't any different. I didn't really mind, I suppose. My thoughts drifted to Bobby and our assignment and the first Hogsmeade visit of the year…

"Oi, Evans! Wait up. You're almost making it hard for me to find you."

I turned to see Sirius strolling towards me, not the least bit in a hurry. I resisted the urge to smile and waited for him to catch up to me. "It's not my fault you're so bloody slow. I guess your secret methods of finding me aren't as powerful as you thought."

He shook his head in a patronizing way. "Afraid not, Lily. I just had things to do before coming to find you." I gave him a suspicious look, but he just smiled in return. "You don't really want to know. What would you do without the mystery I provide in your life?"

"Stop you from causing mischief."

"You could try, I suppose."

"And succeed."

Sirius chuckled. "You're good, Evans, but not that good. You can't really think that you'll be able to reign me in, can you?"

"A girl can surely dream."

"You dream about me? How sweet. Unless they aren't the sweet kind, but in that case…"

A laugh forced its way out of my mouth. Merlin's beard. I shoved him to the side. "Don't be a tosser, Black."

"But now I'm interested! Tell me, how was it? Obviously good, because—"

I squealed like a little girl. "Stop, Sirius! That's _not_ what I meant!" The idea of what he was saying was ludicrous, but the mere thought made my face heat up.

Sirius laughed at my obvious blush. "Don't be shy, Evans. You're not the only one. In fact, Caroline Klent just told me the other day—"

I put my hands over my ears. "La, la, la, la," I said loudly, drowning out the arrogant sound of Sirius's voice. He was still talking and grinning wildly, but I didn't remove my hands. Not until McGonagall walked out of a door on our right, that is.

"_What_ is going on out here?"

I instantly removed my hands and closed my mouth. Sirius shut up, too, but he, unlike myself, looked mildly amused. "I…Professor, we're sorry, we didn't mean to—"

"Miss Evans," said McGonagall sternly, her arms crossed over her black robe. "Where is Mr. Potter?"

"Er…"

"Is he not doing patrols? Because if he was been shirking his duties, I assure you a complaint to Dumbledore will be made and a new Head Boy may be—"

All right, I admit: a part of me was tempted to let McGonagall realize just how bad of a Head Boy Potter is, even if in an incorrect sense. Would it even be that bad if she thought Potter was skipping patrols? I mean, for all we know, he could be! There's no proof he actually does anything! But I felt Sirius stir beside me, and I knew that no matter how infuriating Potter was, if he was going to get kicked out of the Head Boy position, it was going to be for the right reason.

"No, Professor, he is doing his patrols. He's just doing them separately."

McGonagall eyed me behind her glasses. "Separately? I thought I told you everyone must patrol together."

I visibly gulped. "Well, I thought that rule just applied to prefects and since Potter and I are twice as responsible, I assumed that…" My voice died at McGonagall's look. Nice try, Lily. Except not really, because it didn't even soften McGonagall or make her even the least bit understanding.

"That rule, which came from the Headmaster himself, applies to everyone, Miss Evans. And if you feel that you are above that rule, then I suggest you—"

My entire body broke out into a cold sweat. "No, no! I don't think I'm above it. I'm sorry, that was a terrible judgment made on my part. Po—_James_ and I will perform our patrols exactly the way everyone else does. I'll go tell him of the change right away."

McGonagall nodded. She was about to turn back into her room before barking, "Black! What in Merlin's name are you doing out here with Miss Evans?"

"I couldn't stay away from her, Professor. She's a pretty witch, isn't she?" He put his arm around me.

It felt like a dead weight on my shoulders, dragging me down to the depths of hell where I would surely suffer from my dismissal as Head Girl.

McGonagall didn't know what to make of that statement. Hell, I didn't know what to make of it, when I stopped thinking about my impending doom. Because clearly he was not being serious, but how do you object to something like that? In all honestly, I thought it was a kind of brilliant way to turn the situation around.

Unfortunately, McGonagall is more brilliant.

"I can't imagine how Mr. Potter feels with your newfound affection for Miss Evans. Five points from Gryffindor."

My jaw dropped. Excuse me? Did she…did she just…? Why would she say something like that? I didn't even get a good look at her face to see if she was serious or not before she whipped back into her classroom without another glance.

I ripped Sirius's arm off me. I turned to him, his upper lip twitching despite his serious expression. "I don't…why would she…," I muttered. "Bloody hell. Now I have to patrol with Potter!" I started to walk again, this time more angrily than before. This would happen. I was doing so well at having nothing to do with Potter, and now I'm stuck with him for an hour every other night! A part of me couldn't help but also feel bitter because now I don't want to see Sirius on our patrols anymore. Not when he's with Potter.

"What's so bad about doing patrols with Prongs?" asked Sirius from beside me.

"He's so…ugh, you know? Like…ugh. Why would anyone want to spend extra time with him?"

"Don't ask me, I'm forced into it," joked Sirius. I rolled my eyes.

"He's not all that bad, actually," he later said.

"Yes he is. He's so cocky and rude. I feel like I'm about to explode whenever I'm in his presence for more than two minutes."

"Didn't you think the same thing about me, though?"

"What?"

"Admit it: you hated me before school started this year."

I tried not to look too guilty. "I didn't hate you."

"But you equally despised me as much as Prongs. Now look. You actually like it when I crash your patrols, don't you?"

"No," I lied.

"That's a lie straight from the grave of Salazar Slytherin, Lily Evans. I make your nights when I show up on patrol."

It's true, but I do have some dignity. I wasn't about to admit Sirius Black could brighten my mood. I might as well have just checked myself into the 'We Love You Sirius' club with those other girls.

"Okay, whatever, I'll pretend that's true. But you're Sirius! And he's….Potter!"

Sirius actually pondered that for a moment. "While I do get what you mean, Evans, since I am more handsome, roguish, and charming, I'm failing to see the problem here."

I angrily sighed. _Was he really asking what my problem with Potter was?_

"What's your problem with him, Lily?"

Merlin's beard. I tugged at the chain of my necklace. "You're a prat, Sirius, but at least you acknowledge that you're a prat. There's no games with you, no promises that you're actually a genuinely loving bloke, because you're not. You're Sirius Black and you have no problem showing the entire castle who exactly that is. But Potter…Potter would use his dying breath trying to convince someone he's not a prat. He'd honestly expect me to go out with him while he's harassing my mate. God forbid if he doesn't instantly wow a person, because then he will spend the rest of his life throwing himself on you, painting this image that he's this great bloke. He does all these arse-like things, and then expects everyone to think that he's not an arse. But he is."

"Maybe he's not," suggested Sirius as if he didn't even care.

"What do you mean maybe he's not? You were there all the times when he bullied those kids, we got in those arguments, and he showed off. He's awful."

"No more awful than me." He shrugged. "Definitely less than me, come to think of it. Besides, that was ages ago. You should look at him now. He grew up some since fifth year. Bit annoying really. I liked him much better as a thick, immature fifteen year old. It's much easier and more fun to be a git when all your mates are gits, too."

I suppressed a laugh.

"Most of that arse-ness came from being around you, anyway."

I stopped walking and looked into Sirius's grey eyes. "It's still impossible for us to not get in a fight. Explain that."

With another easy shrug of his shoulders and his long black hair casually falling in his face, Sirius looked like we were discussing the weather (which I do, for all intents and purposes, find more interesting to talk about than Potter). This was all a disposable conversation Sirius would forget before he woke up tomorrow morning. "Personally, I think it's all the tension between you two. You need to get it out of your system. I've been saying it for years: you haven't shagged yet, so you've got to resort to yelling. Just one-"

"Sirius!"

He innocently held his hands up. "Only joking. Sort of." I glared at him. "I don't know why you hate Prongs, considering I think he's the greatest bloke you'll ever meet," he said, sounding frank, "and I don't know why his knickers get twisted around you. You're an intimidating bird, I suppose. I think it's the hair. Reminds people of fire."

I scoffed and started walking again. "My hair does not remind people of fire!" Honestly, I hated it when they said things like that. Has anyone even seen a real fire before?

We spent the rest of patrols debating my hair's likeness to fire. We didn't mention Potter anymore, which was good, because it surely would've caused a row since Sirius is so very wrong about everything he says about him.

There are plenty of differences between Potter and Sirius. The largest is that I can tolerate Sirius; I cannot, however, tolerate Potter. Not for extended periods of time, at least. Certainly not for an hour at a time, just me and him alone in the halls.

Is a witch's seventh year really supposed to be this difficult?

* * *

><p><strong>I know I'm sorry that the whole JamesLily actually interacting is taking foreverrrr but (spoiler alert) that all changes next chapter. **

**Please review!**

**MG**


	5. Maybe

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! My favorite review was a guest review that said this story should be AU because I've rewritten the rules of magic, and my lazy writing is on its way to being the new My Immortal. I only wish I could write Lily as dynamic as Ebony.**

**(Joking, everyone else's reviews were amazing and I'm so grateful to everyone who's reading and I just love updating so I hope everyone at least semi-likes this update half as much as I like posting it.)**

* * *

><p><strong>September 20, 1977<strong>

No communication with Potter thus far. I have seen Sirius looking at me a few times, and while I have pretended not to notice, I'm beginning to wonder whether Sirius already told Potter that we have to patrol together now. I wouldn't put it past him, but at the same time, I can't help but think that Sirius really doesn't care enough. Remus probably would have run back and told Potter, since the poor bloke spent all of fifth year trying to convince me how great his mate was. Sirius, though… Sirius is harder to predict, that's for sure.

Not like it makes any difference. I still have to patrol with him. Oh, blast, I think Flitwick knows I'm not doing the assigned charm. It's not my fault it's so—

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

Flitwick noticed. But when I showed him how perfect my Flame Cooling charm was, he wasn't upset at all. Only thing is he then made me show the class, and he even told me to help those who were struggling. I'm sure it was to make sure I didn't continue writing as soon as he left. See, Professor Malek, even Flitwick finds these journals a nuisance!

Frankly, everyone was struggling to a point, but not enough that I really needed to help them. I suggested Kara swish her wand less and jab more, and I corrected William's pronunciation, but other than that, there was no one else to help.

All right, fine, there was no one else I was willing to help. Severus was sitting with Avery, and Avery was—unfortunately, the prick—casting well enough, but Severus might not have even been trying. He kept swishing, pointing, and swirling his wand, yet the contained fire he created was staying on his desk, the shimmer of gold around it missing. Severus brought his hand close to the flames, but pulled back. Obviously it was still very much hot fire.

_Well, not my problem_, I thought, sitting back down next to Diana, who was twisting the flames of her fire into various flowers.

"I can't believe Flitwick made me do that," I muttered.

"That's the price of being brilliant, I suppose," said Diana nonchalantly. "Did you notice that Snape's fire has yet to turn the slightest glimmer of gold?" She nodded towards the boy up front.

"Yeah, I noticed. I wasn't going to go help."

"You ruddy well shouldn't have! He'd probably try to throw his fire on you."

The bones in my body seemed to have stiffened and shrunk of their own accord. "He wouldn't do something like that, Diana," I said, my voice tight. He wouldn't. He's a Slytherin and a jerk, but he's not a tormentor. He wouldn't hurt me or anyone else like that.

"Maybe he wouldn't," conceded Diana, looking directly at me, "but he wouldn't stop his mate if Avery were to pull a stunt like that."

I had nothing to say to that, and I wasn't going to bother to disagree, although a part of me did. I hate being proved wrong, but I especially hate it when I'm wrong about Severus. And when it comes to Severus, I've been wrong every time.

I looked at the fire on my desk in front of me. Without speaking a word, I waved my wand and tiny gold sparkles surrounded the fire. Even when looking for them, you could almost convince yourself they were a trick of the light. I stuck my hand in the fire. It was like a warm wind passing over and through my fingers. A summer wind, to be specific. The wind that Severus and I deliciously welcomed when we were younger and on holiday…

Diana leaned in close. "I'm a little concerned, to be honest," she said, her voice low.

"About what?" I whispered.

"About Severus. Aren't you?" I looked at her blankly, having no idea what she was talking about. "I mean… Have you noticed his hair today? I think that much grease is a fire hazard."

I gasped and straightened up. I tried not to laugh. "Diana!"

"Well, look!" she said, giggling. "It's so long, it's practically in the fire. What if a single spark catches a strand of his hair and—_whoosh_! The whole castle catches on fire!"

I laughed, but I tried not to. Really. I did. Yet the idea of Severus's head of greasy hair engulfed in flames (without pain, of course) was just too much. On top of that, the idea of Hogwarts burning down because of it…

Cover of The Dailey Prophet: _Boy's unhygienic hair ruins ancient school_

Underneath that: _Not enough magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to stop one too many drops of grease from burning down castle _

"How fast do you think it would catch on fire?" I asked.

"Two seconds," answered Diana assuredly. "What do you think?"

What I was going to say, I don't know. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have said anything. It really isn't his fault he's got naturally greasy hair. It's just…a chemical imbalance. The point is, to make fun of someone like that is so third year.

Before I had the chance to answer, though, Severus's flame shot upwards ten meters in the air before Severus brought them back down. Avery jumped out of his chair and Holly Riecht shrieked very loudly. Flitwick looked over in alarm from the back of the room.

"Mr. Snape! What is going on?"

"Sorry, Professor. I can't seem to grasp the spell."

Flitwick's expression showed mild shock. Severus usually never has much difficulty in any class, especially not in Charms. Right before our official fallout, he said Charms was a useless subject, and any idiot could master it. That resulted in a rather large row between the two of us.

"Oh, my, yes, well…" Flitwick clearly was unsure of what to do.

_Poor Severus can't understand a simple charm_, I thought bitterly. _Whatever shall we do? We must fix this! We must-!_

"Miss Evans! Could you please-?" Flitwick gestured towards me. He must have noticed Diana and I turned towards each other, our wands on our desks, clearly not in use. Shite.

My eyes were wide and my mind in denial. "What?" Could I please take over the class? Sweep your floor? Be your slave? Leave the country? Sure, anything, Professor.

Flitwick motioned towards Pettigrew, who had somehow managed to extinguish his flame, and then back to Severus. "Please, Miss Evans."

Anything but that.

I looked at my favorite professor and tried to convey the message that if he made me go help Severus, he was losing that title and I would never forgive him.

Ever.

He didn't get the message. "Thank you, Miss Evans." He turned back to Peter.

Holy hippogriffs. Why me? Why Severus? Why, why, why?

"Want me to cause an accidental fire?" Diana asked seriously, her lips pursed together.

"In exactly one hundred and twenty seconds, yes."

I picked up my wand and walked over to Severus, who was watching me the whole time, his face blank. I hoped he was suffering just as much as I was. More so, knowing that I was the superior one in the situation.

When I reached his desk, I braced my shoulders for a snarky comment from Avery, who had looked over at me. Surely, he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to diminish me. Surely, he wouldn't approve of me being better than him and his mate. Surely, I could accidentally throw the flame of fire onto his trousers…

He turned back to his flame. No comment. No smirk. No roll of the eyes. Nothing.

What in a flying Bludger's name was going on?

"Er…" _Abort. Abort. Abort. You know nothing. You know no charms. You are not a witch. You do not understand magic. You can't even speak English. Abort. Abort._

"Can you show me how to do it, Lily?" asked Severus. Politely.

But he can't be polite! He's Severus! Do you know how much it messes me up when he's like the old Sev, Professor?

"Er, yeah, sure." I held my wand loosely in my hand, pointed at Severus's fire. "_Inalgesco_," I said, striking the flame with a flourish. Gold shimmer surrounded the flame. I stuck my hand in the fire. Warm summer wind…

"You try. It's less of a swish and more of a jab with your wand."

Severus did as I said. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. "Oh," I said, slightly startled. Severus doesn't just not understand spells, especially in Charms class. "Er…"

"I don't know why this is impossible for me to do…," he mumbled, his head down and his voice a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. To be honest, my heart gave a little twinge. "Thanks for trying to help me, though." He tried again and a little flicker happened, but not much else.

I very well just couldn't leave him. Professor Flitwick did tell me to help. "Here," I said, holding my wand up again. "_Inalgesco_." The flame reacted perfectly. "Jab your wand forward, but then try to flick it up a bit at the end, that might help. Stress the –_ge_ sound as well."

Severus tried a second time, and he did it perfectly. Completely perfectly, I tell you.

"Oh, well," I said, slightly startled. "Good job, Severus."

"Thanks, Lily. You're a good tutor." He adjusted himself in his seat to focus on his project in front of him and said no more.

"Right," I said, before walking back to my seat.

"All right, that was really odd," said Diana.

"Yeah," I said, still feeling weird. I can't help it. Every time I'm with Severus, I'm reminded of a part of me that's no longer actually a part of me. Like a pet that ran away.

Flitwick called for us to clean our areas before we were dismissed, and then we were on our way. Diana started to tell me how Philippe asked her to eat lunch outside with her, and I barely listened. Usually I genuinely do listen and care. But after that incident with Severus… He acted like I was just another girl. Any girl who was polite enough to help him with his schoolwork.

I have never been just any girl to Severus. Even when we were fighting, even when I ignored him all of sixth year, even on the first day of school this year I was not a regular girl to him.

What am I going to do when he no longer cares? What's going to happen when Severus has truly stopped caring for me? Because I'll be honest, I never have stopped caring for him. Despite all the terrible things he does, I don't want harm to come upon him. I would like to think that, despite it all, in the end, he would want to keep me from harm, too. But what if that's gone?

I shouldn't care. We are done being friends, and I never really wanted to become friends with him again soon. It wouldn't be the sensible thing to do.

I just hoped somewhere down the line, maybe when we're older and wiser, that I could really forgive him after he changed his ways. Sometimes-late at night when I let my deepest secrets free-I imagine us on the platform twenty years from now. He's putting his kid on the train, I'm hugging my child goodbye, and we see each other. We happen to be standing at the same spot we met at on our very first day of school, anxious, excited, and happy eleven year olds. Severus had left his horrible friends after Hogwarts, and even though we never became friends again, he is a good person. At that point, I understand, he understands, and I get my best mate back. I could see it, distantly, if I squinted.

I always thought that if he kept trying to win back my friendship, if he still wanted me, there was a part of him that wasn't completely satisfied. He would want it all back, and he would forget about that Dark Magic. Things could be good again, if only he realized he did still want our old friendship back.

But that can't happen. He can't leave them and come back to me if I'm just some ordinary girl to him.

Bloody hell, look at me, tearing up in public. I'm in the Great Hall, for Circe's sake! I'm going to pretend to sneeze. People sometimes tear up when they sneeze. I'll just sneeze.

I sneezed.

"Bless you," said a fifth year.

"Thanks," I responded. "I guess I'm coming down a cold!" I chuckled. She nodded politely before turning back to her friends. Great. Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you, the one, the only, redhead freak at Hogwarts, Lily Evans!

Diana is with Philippe and Mary is with Ben. Jane was at the Hufflepuff table, and I couldn't find Eileen. So to not look completely sad eating lunch alone, I pulled out this dumb thing and started writing. I took up more pages, but I hardly ate.

Huh. Now that I look at it, I'm filling this thing up rather nicely. Maybe I'll even be done by November. One can dream, right, Professor?

* * *

><p><strong>September 21, 1977<strong>

I have yet to tell Potter we have to patrol together now. Our patrol duties are tonight.

My Excuse: I didn't see him at all yesterday. He had Quidditch practice, and I was in the library all day tackling the loads of homework I had. I definitely have not been avoiding Potter at all costs.

My Real Reason: I am avoiding Potter at all costs. And I really don't want to have to patrol with him. It's going to be so uncomfortable. I can be delusional for a little longer, can't I?

* * *

><p><strong>Later <strong>

When Professor Slater announced that we were going to be receiving partners for an Ancient Runes project today, I was less than pleased. Severus is in that class, and it is always a fear of mine that I will end up alongside him again. I'd probably be physically incapable of working with him on a project, good grades be damned. Plus, it's not like the class is a large one. There's only ten of us, four Slytherins, two Gryffindors, three Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff. Not that I dislike them all, but the only ones I'm semi-fond of are Remus and Bobby, and the possibility of pairing up with either of them was slim.

Yet luck was on my side today, and Bobby and I are now working on a two-week long project.

After Professor Slater said, "Flitter, Evans," to me, Bobby turned around from the front to smile at me before gathering his things and sitting alongside me. Remus got up to work with Avery, poor bloke.

"Hello, Lily," he said. "I can't believe I lucked out and got paired with you. Slater must be feeling extra kind today. Perhaps he's sick."

I laughed. "I can honestly say I feel the same. I was beginning to feel lightheaded when I thought of all the prospective disasters that would come with my partner."

"What disaster are you foreseeing with me?" asked Bobby with a smile.

A disaster with Bobby? Impossible. Nothing bad ever happens with Bobby, but I played along. "Mmm…I'm seeing a destroyed library. You kept trying to help with the project, when in reality, you had no idea what you were doing. I got very upset. Things went downhill from there."

Bobby loudly laughed. He has a nice laugh. You can see all his straight teeth. "You shouldn't have dropped Divination, Lily. You seem to have a real knack for telling the future."

Slater came over. "Mr. Flitter and Miss Evans! If you do not begin thinking of a topic for your project, I will assign you an additional one to complete during a detention!" He raised his hairy grey eyebrows at us sternly. They looked like jumping caterpillars.

"Yes, sir, we apologize for not following the directions, sir," said Bobby. He turned to his book, parchment, and quill. He picked up his quill and wrote, _Ancient Runes Topics_ at the top. He forcefully underlined it. Slater left.

"Anyway," I said, "Divination was awful. I don't know about you, but it always made me feel—"

Bobby gave me a sideways glance.

"What?" I said.

"Shouldn't we be coming up with a topic?"

I paused. "Or we could finish our conversation first."

Bobby looked at me with a deep look of contemplation before straightening up and setting his quill on his desk. "Fine, but only for a minute. If we get a detention, you get to explain it to the rest of the prefects."

"When has Slater ever actually given someone a detention?"

"Fair point," he said. "So what were you saying?"

"I can't remember," I admitted.

"Oh." He laughed. "Well anyway, if I burn down the library, I'm sure you'll save the books. And hopefully our Ancient Runes grade, since you are the brilliant one here."

I blushed. "Bobby Flitter, aren't you quite the charmer?" I joked, lightly hitting his arm.

"I'm just trying to get on your good side so I can convince you to do all the work," he said in a preposterously haughty tone.

I laughed, but when I saw Slater making his way towards us again, I leaned forward and began to mumble some nonsense about how _fascinating_ Ancient Runes is and how it'll be _impossible_ to choose just one topic.

Eventually we did-in the last few minutes of class, I might add. But only because we kept getting sidetracked. Bobby spent his summer with his Muggle friends attending football games across the country, sometimes even in France. It's kind of fascinating to me. He's a Muggleborn too, but he's somehow managed to keep his Muggle friends from primary school and have a life outside of the wizarding world. Fortunately, Bobby didn't ask me how I spent my summer. I didn't really give him a chance to, since I kept asking him more and more questions. I couldn't bear the idea of having to tell him I spent it counting down the hours until I could escape my Muggle world.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

Ten minutes until Patrol time with Potter.

If I do not come out alive, I wish for all my belongings to be split accordingly among Diana, Mary, and Petunia. Farewell, cruel world.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

Wait, what do I do if he tries to talk to me?

* * *

><p><strong>Later <strong>

What do I do if he doesn't talk at all?

* * *

><p><strong>Later <strong>

What if he only says really nasty things to me?

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

What if Sirius shows up?

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

What if—

Oh, bugger. I'm late.

* * *

><p><strong>(Technically) September 22, 1977<strong>

I'm sure you're dying to know how it went, Professor Malek, so I suppose I'll just jump right in to the great tragedy that is my life.

I was definitely late. Even though I ran the whole way, the Ravenclaw prefects had already departed, and Potter was sitting in his regular seat.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said, completely flustered. "I lost track of time."

Potter nodded and stood up. "I'll take the dungeon and the first floor. You'll do the rest?"

Guess Sirius didn't tell him. "Er, no."

Potter looked at me, his eyes clearly showing surprise. "Do you want the dungeon and first floor? Because if you're craving the scent of death and despair, I'll gladly give you Slytherin territory…"

I giggled. I bloody giggled. Mid-giggle, my brain caught up to me. Was I really laughing at something Potter said? Times are changing!

I straightened my spine then, rolling back my shoulders. "Also, no." His smile, which had formed when I started to laughed, slowly disappeared. "McGonagall, er, may or may not have caught me doing patrols on my own last time. She wasn't too pleased. We have to patrol together now."

Potter's face sunk even more, if possible. "Oh."

"Yeah," I said. There he was standing with his messy black hair, his overly sharp jaw line, and his square glasses. He's a wizard, isn't he? He could have fixed his eyesight by now, I'm sure! "So I suggest we get started."

"Right," Potter said. I could hear the frustration in his voice. Splendid. I sure do love long walks in empty halls with boys that hate me.

I braced myself for whatever he would inevitably say—mental preparation is key when dealing with a Marauder—but nothing came. We simply walked the halls in eerie silence. It was a bit spooky. I thought of striking up a conversation, yet then I realized that my mouth is an erratic train wreck and caused a nice, little disaster last time I tried my hand at humor and civility with Potter. So I said nothing. No one said anything for a whole hour. It was awful, especially because my mind ended up thinking about what Sirius had said last patrol, how Potter's different.

He is, you know. He is different. I don't know if he's better—my bitter desire to always be right longs to say no—but I cannot insist that he's the same bloke he was when he was fifteen. I can't even remember the last time I saw him bullying someone, although perhaps a strong argument could be made regarding the Slytherins. He walks a bit differently. Still confident, with his hands often in his pockets and his shoulders rolled back, and unusually slow too, like he has all the time in the world, but he seems to make less of a show from it all. His walk is less arrogant. (Is that even possible?) He doesn't puff out his chest as often. The student body seems to even be slightly depressed that the Marauders haven't continued their string of antics from fifth year. The air that you're expected to kiss his feet isn't so thick now. He might have—dare I say it—matured, and I don't think it just happened this year. I knew he was behaving differently last year, but I didn't have any reason to recognize the changes. Now I've got Sirius Suddenly-the-Sense-of-Reason Black making me feel guilty.

Is Potter better, though? We still argue. He still isn't taking Head duties seriously. He's arrogant and lazy and—

Are you getting tired of reading that, Professor? I'm getting a bit tired of writing it, honestly.

It's habit, to think Potter then string those words behind the name. I've been doing it for years, to myself, with my roommates, with Severus.

Potter brought up fifth year, though, when we were making that calendar. I don't want to be remembered for my time at Hogwarts as a fifth year. I might very well prefer not to be remembered at all. (Which is truthfully depressing, as I think I'm a very memorable person. I did once eat an entire box of Bertie's Every Flavor Beans in one sitting without throwing up, which all my roommates found impressive.) I want to be remembered for more than that year. I would like to be remembered for my first year and seventh year and next year and when I'm twenty and when I'm forty and when I'm ninety.

What I'm realizing, though, as I write this at one in the morning, is that Potter and Sirius were right. I can dislike Potter, I can choose not to be his friend, but I cannot claim the same things about him as I have in the past. I can't say those things about him because he's no longer like that. That was him as a first year, a fifth year, whatever. I can only judge him on who he is now. If I do not want anyone to remember the wrong I did at the age of fifteen, I expect he feels similarly. If he knows he was wrong, too.

I'm not saying I like Potter. I'm definitely not going to be running towards his room and asking if he would like to stay up late and share secrets. I am saying that he has a point, though.

I really hate it when Potter has a point.

* * *

><p><strong>(Actually) September 22, 1977<strong>

At first, I wasn't going to tell anyone about my great revelation with Potter, not even Mary and Diana. It would be a long explanation, and I wasn't really in the mood to hear "I told you so."

To be honest, a tiny part of me wasn't going to tell my mates because I feel like when I decided not to hold onto his fifth year self, I somehow also decided that I was going to treat Potter…right.

I know what you're thinking. You—Lily Evans—tolerate Potter? Lily Evans give Potter the friendship and kindness she gives everyone else? Preposterous.

It's different than when I found out he was Head Boy, because that was me trying to survive with a scrap of my sanity. Now it is like I'm trying to see Potter in a different light. At least, that's what it felt like when I woke up. It was a very disconcerting feeling, I will admit. I don't know how to act or feel towards Potter in a way that doesn't involve preconceived notions and a list of his flaws hot and ready in my pocket. It is almost like I am giving him… a chance.

Upon reflection of the year so far, however, it seems that Potter is, at the very least, still a toerag that lives for arguing with me.

My final conclusion after all this rambling: Potter isn't so bad, I suppose, but we will never manage to truly work well together. I was sure of this. A girl just needs some backup first.

When I entered the Great Hall, I saw Mary sitting at the Gryffindor table, smearing jam on her bread. I sat across from her.

"Hullo," she said with a broad smile.

"Morning." I scanned the table for the eggs. "No Diana?"

"No, not yet," she said. "She overslept since she was out late last night."

"Mmm…"

"With a boy," she added with a smirk.

I looked up from my scoop of cooked eggs. "Interesting… Philippe?"

"Nope. This time she was with Ashby."

"_Ashby_? What happened to Philippe?"

"A girl has to keep her options open," said a new voice, "you should know that, Lily."

"If it isn't the Veela now…," muttered Mary.

Diana stuck her tongue out at her as she sat next to me. "We can't all have our future husbands stuck with us already, MacDonald."

I stabbed at my eggs. "Please don't forget me when you're living with your perfect husbands and all my social contact is with my twelve cats and four owls."

Diana snorted. Mary said, "Come off it, Lily. I'm sure Potter would take pity on you and marry you."

"True," said Diana with a nod.

Potter… How do we always come to him? Like I said, I hadn't intended to tell them, but there was the perfect conversation starter. I had no choice but to take hold of the opportunity.

No choice.

"Speaking of, I've had a revelation," I told them.

"You realized you would be perfect with Potter?"

"You're going to give me all your shoes?"

"I—_what_? No!" I glared at Diana. "Mary, you can always _borrow_ my shoes." She shrugged as if she knew one day she was going to get them all. She's never been very interested in makeup or fashion—that's always been Diana—but she has a certain obsession with shoes, especially mine. "I realized I shouldn't be holding what Potter did in the past, to me and others, against him, and that he deserves a clean slate."

Diana and Mary stared at me.

"Post owls will fly in your mouths unless you try to look a little less shocked."

Honestly.

"Blimey, Lily," breathed Diana, "haven't we been telling you this for the past year?"

"Yeah, what happened?" chimed in Mary.

I summarized what happened, mostly pointing out that Sirius is particularly good at the guilt trips, and Potter works well with pointing out your own flaws and insecurities.

"So…," said Diana afterwards, "you're going to try to be friends with him, right?"

"Are you mad?" I asked. "I don't even know how that would work! Honestly, I'm just trying to survive the year with him as Head Boy without feeling remorseful and getting yelled at every other day."

"Being his friend isn't this dramatic, lifelong commitment, Lils."

I was slightly annoyed with Diana at this point. I don't get why she is continually pushing me to form a friendship with Potter. Normally she would side with me, but now it seems all she says is how he's worth giving a chance. I know she has the weird pseudo-cousin thing with him and she sees him often on holidays, and that's great. He could turn into a man as good as Dumbledore and as interesting as the lead singer of the Chocolate Roaches around Mummy and Daddy in the summer months, but what I care about is how he acts now.

"Diana," said Mary before I could potentially snap, " she's got a point. She and James have a rough history."

"But they can start anew. They aren't _always_ fighting," countered Diana.

"And dragons aren't _always_ burning people to a crisp. That doesn't mean I would like one as a pet this Christmas."

Diana glared at Mary. Mary raised an eyebrow in return. They're often teasing each other (Exhibit A: the beginning of breakfast), but when they row…watch out.

Oops.

Potter makes things difficult even when he's not around.

"I'm just saying," I said in an attempt to dispel the tension, "is that yes, I was wrong for still crediting the bloke down the table with causing toads to fall from the Great Hall ceiling in our fourth year, but at this point, I just want to survive the year with him as Head Boy." They said nothing. "Er, anyway, Mary, how are things going with Davis?"

She shrugged, clearly not in the mood anymore.

"Bugger off, Mary," said Diana in an annoyed voice. "You know nothing completes a breakfast like talks of shagging your boyfriend."

I snorted. Mary's brown eyes rolled so fast they were a blur. Diana smirked. Back to normal; no more Potter. Somehow Diana manages to say the right thing. Most of the time.

"Nothing's happened," she said. "We just have plans tomorrow, but he won't tell me what we're doing."

"Ah," said Diana with a knowing nod. "The element of surprise."

Mary made a face. "You're the boy expert, it seems. Tell me what he's planning."

"I'm telling you, it's the diet I started this summer. All the blokes have noticed."

Oh, boy. Mary and I have now learned to not let Diana get started on her diet spiels. They'll never end, and you'll feel guilty for the rest of the day about what you eat. And how you aren't getting physical activity every day like her, since she runs every night on the grounds. When I told her taking notes for Transfiguration had earned me enough muscles in my right hand to never exercise again, she was not amused. Mary laughed though, bless her.

"Merlin, Diana," said Mary. "It's not your diet. It's the way you've been carrying yourself lately. Plus, you've been doing something different with your makeup. How'd you manage to get the stuff on your eyes looking so smudged? Your eyes look great."

Diana laughed. "I was too lazy to take off my makeup from last night, so I went to bed with it, and I woke up like this. It works, no?"

I groaned. "Of course you woke up looking like that."

"Don't start the pity party, Evans," Diana said. I was surprised she wasn't wagging a finger to match her tone. "You never even need makeup, and I can name a dozen blokes who would like to take you to Hogsmeade next month."

I scoffed. "First years don't count."

"Lockhart is a third year now," said Mary. "Your love affair in Hogsmeade is finally legal now!"

Diana madly giggled. I glared at her.

Believe it or not, Professor, I had a first year ask me to Hogsmeade…when I was a fifth year. It was one of the last visits, and a cheeky boy named Gilderoy asked me. (What kind of name is Gilderoy?) He was the confident and flattering one. I'm still unsure, though, as to whether he genuinely thought I would be his date or if he was simply hoping I would take pity on him and sneak him into Hogsmeade with me.

Truth be told, I really think he was going for the former. How sad that a first year thought I had no one better to go with than him. It was so embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as when I heard what Potter had done to him later. Gilderoy became the even more fabulous Rapunzel. (She's a Muggle princess from a fairytale. Essentially, Gilderoy's hair wouldn't stop growing, not even when it was near forty meters long.)

"Merlin's beard, that has to be one of the lowest points of my love life." He was eleven, for Godric's sake! I was sixteen! Just take a gander at the pipsqueak now, Professor, and think of how small he was at eleven. Now put him beside my sixteen-year-old self. The bloke could hardly see my face, if you know what I mean.

"Oooh, but how about when Ralph started to cry when he tried to win you back a month after you two broke up?" said Mary through her giggles.

"During dinner in the Great Hall!" chortled Diana.

"He had allergies!" I exclaimed. He did, I swear. He just only got allergies when he was attempting to be sentimental…

They kept laughing. I tried not to join them. I did. All I had to do was think about how rotten my best mates are and I definitely wasn't laughing, but then I would picture poor Ralph's face that winter evening. He was a giant sweetheart the three months we were together, but that was the problem.

"Whom shall I grant the honor to take me to Hogsmeade, Gilderoy or Ralph? So many suitors!" I fanned at my face with a flourish of my hand.

"Definitely Gilderoy," said Diana seriously. "Look at the teal piping he added to his school robes! You would be lucky to be on the arm of a _man _like that!" We turned to look at him. He was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with a flock of girls—mostly third years and below, but I did see a few older students, regrettably. He's a Slytherin, though. (Proof the stereotypes don't apply to everyone.) The teal stitches on his black cloak were easily seen even from that far away.

"So dreamy," sighed Mary heavily. We lost it at that; laughing so hard we earned a few incredulous stares.

"Come on," I said after we stopped our wheezing. "We're going to be late for Herbology."

As we walked out of the Great Hall, Mary casually asked, "What about Bobby?"

What about Bobby is right. Bobby would be wonderful company to Hogsmeade. When I remembered we were Ancient Runes partners for the next two weeks, I walked a bit more jovially.

* * *

><p><strong>LATER<strong>

Severus is unable to grasp a single spell in Charms class now. The tables have certainly turned.

* * *

><p><strong>LATER<strong>

Not that I am pleased with this new development. Certainly not. It's just… for God's sake, Peter and Kara both grasped the Directional Charm faster than Severus. Peter and Kara! They barely made it to N.E.W.T.!

* * *

><p><strong>LATER <strong>

All right, I'm a little pleased.

* * *

><p><strong>(Technically) September 23, 1977<strong>

I was the first one to arrive at the Prefect Room. (That's what I shall call our meeting space; although I think technically it's called Unused Classroom #425 with a Couch). The second prefect to arrive was Severus. Of course.

He looked just as surprised and unhappy to see me waiting as I was to see him walking through. He awkwardly stood near the door as I leaned against one of the tables. I did not look at him, and he kept his nose pointed to the ground. I felt his stare when he cleared his throat a couple of times, sounding extremely intentional. I wanted to punch his throat.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"We had to switch rounds with the Ravenclaw pair. Dander had some sort of wizard chess championship game." Mostly I was just glad we didn't have to patrol tomorrow, a Friday.

"Right. How have your patrols been going?" he asked.

"Good." Any other prefect and I would have asked them everything about their patrols—trouble? Couples? First years? Harassment by Filch? Of course, Head Girl duties come second to that he let his mate talk to me as if I was rubbish. It's like the Golden Rule.

"Sorry you have to patrol with Potter. It must be really rotten to work with a git like him."

I wanted to tell Severus about my revelation, but that would mean admitting I had thought Potter was a git. Old habits die a little easier when you've got betrayal and public verbal abuse in your past.

"Actually, it's not," I said, my voice rising. "He's an extremely pleasant person. Our patrols are some of the most enjoyable evenings of my entire week."

Severus's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious," he sneered. "That's Potter."

I tried to give him my most confident smirk because I had no idea what to say in response. Severus started to say something, but at that second, Potter strolled through the door. We both turned to look at him. The air became very, very thick.

Ah, yes, two sworn enemies and myself in one room. Jolly good day, I should say.

"Pot—_James_! I'm really glad you came. Really glad. You know how I love our patrols."

Surely Potter's look of absolute astonishment would have given away whatever I was trying to do, but Severus seemed to be in too much shock to notice.

"What—"

"Oh, Ana Marie, hello!" I smiled at her as if we were old pals from grade school, even though I could count the number of times we've addressed one another on one hand. "I suppose you're here to patrol with Severus."

"Yes." She smiled tightly. Her eyeliner was thick around her brown eyes.

"That's nice," I said pointlessly.

Half shrug, half grunt. Another long pause. My life is comprised of long, awkward pauses (and rows with Potter) (and rows with Severus).

I looped my arm through Potter's, cringing internally. It was a very large arm, hanging awkwardly on his side, and he even started to pull back when I first grabbed him. He probably thought I was going to injure him.

"We will take this floor and up," I said over my shoulder as we walked out. "You guys can get the rest, right?"

Ana Marie nodded like the whole thing was boring to her, which it probably was. I didn't look at Severus again as I took Potter around two corners until we were out of sight. I yanked my arm out of Potter's.

"What the—"

"Severus was talking about how awful you are and how rotten patrols must be."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

A pause.

"It really bothered me."

"It bothered you that he was talking about how awful I am?"

"It bothered me that he was speaking."

That seemed to shock him into silence. For about ten seconds.

"Anyway, sorry I was late. I was working on that Defense essay."

"Oh, yeah," I said, secretly wondering if he was really working on it. "How far did you get?"

"About halfway. Describing the vampires was easy, but comparing the living cycle with that of Inferi is a bit harder. Have you started?"

We talked for a bit about the essay, but there's only so much a person can say. Our sentences were too careful and stilted for either of us to likely feel prepared to venture into another topic of conversation. I don't know what Potter was thinking (I never do), but our yelling matches were fresh in my mind, so there was a lot of silence.

The only time anyone spoke was when we physically bumped into two Hufflepuff boys sneaking around, probably fourth years. They had been running around a corner and the boys slammed into Potter and I. I stumbled into the wall and Potter stepped back a few steps, trying to regain his balance. The boy that hit me wasn't large—about the same height as me—but his momentum sure did a lot of damage.

I lectured them about how they couldn't be out after curfew for a number of reasons, and I took away twenty points. Potter glanced at me, completely without judgment, but I saw by the slight raise of his eyebrows he was surprised. I realized I was being a tad too harsh. I changed it to only ten points.

The boys appeared to care very little when I talked to them, but when Potter started to reprimand them and explain how it made his job more difficult because he and I had to compile a list of all disciplinary actions, their shoulders actually sagged. Do you know what they did next? They apologized. _To Potter_.

One said, "We're really sorry, man, sir, Head Boy," stumbling over his words. "We never meant to cause trouble for you. It won't happen again."

"Promise," added the other.

Potter clapped them on the shoulder and said they would still get their punishment either way, but then he told them the way back to their Common Room that would be quickest and least likely to have other patrollers. In that moment, I saw why Dumbledore made Potter Head Boy. After all, everyone loves Potter. Everyone but me, that is.

* * *

><p><strong>September 23, 1977<strong>

If James Potter ever had any positive feelings for me previously, I can nearly guarantee they instantly evaporated after he saw me trashing our Common Room like a raving lunatic.

It was not a pretty sight, I assure you. It was a little before eight in the morning, and I had actually brushed and curled only half of my hair. I had on my uniform, but no makeup. My eyes were—I assume—wild and panicked.

I woke up this morning feeling chipper. I could expect a relatively peaceful relationship with Potter, Mary was no longer moaning to Diana and I every spare chance she got, this journal has actually filled up reasonably fast, and there has not been any crimes reported in the Daily Prophet associated with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named recently.

I tugged on my black skirt, buttoned my blouse, and began to do my hair. I was singing some Muggle music—a Queen song that dad always played back home—when I noticed my necklace. Rather, I noticed my lack thereof. My necklace was gone. The one I always wear—vanished. I never take it off. Not when I sleep, not when I shower, never. Yet it was not there.

I audibly screamed. If my life were a film, the birds would have stopped singing, the record would have cut, and the entire castle would've paused. I ran to the table beside my bed, looking on its counter before ripping open the drawer. I threw myself on the floor and looked under the bed. I tore the sheets off the mattress. It was not there, but I didn't expect it to be.

In about thirty seconds, my room was a warzone. I hurled every pillow, parchment, and quill out of its place. I checked in the most unusual and least likely places in my room, including behind the toilet. I began to panic after I scoured the entire room.

I sat on my stripped bed and tried to think of the last time I noticed I was wearing it. The problem is that because the necklace never leaves my neck, I'm rarely conscious of ever wearing it. The last time I remembered twisting the chain around my finger was Monday in Charms class. I Accio-ed my shoes from my closet before pausing. All I had to do was cast a spell and my necklace would come to me. It would be an easy fix, right?

Wrong.

I tend to think I work well under pressure. Whenever Slughorn says five minutes left to work in Potions class, most of the students panic and throw all the ingredients in at once. Not me. My mind feels like it gets sharper and I read the instructions more clearly.

After today, I might have to reevaluate my idea of rationality in intense situations.

"_Accio_ _necklace_!" I said once, twice, then thrice. Nothing. As I said it, my mind couldn't focus on where I was calling it from. All I could think was that it was in the Common Room—the library—the Great Hall—the hallways. Tragically, a part of me was thinking it was at the bottom of the Black Lake. I wondered how deep it was and if I could dive in in my uniform or if my blasted sweater would suffocate me.

Obviously, the charm did not work.

Seeing as I spent plenty of my time in the seventh year girls' dormitory, I ran down there next. The second I entered the room I exclaimed, "Has anyone seen my necklace?" Quite dramatically, might I add. I was in a state of panic, and if theatrics would get the world to understand the emergency, by God, I would make it happen.

"What necklace?" asked Jane, who was the only one in the room. She stood in front of the mirror plaiting her long black hair.

"The one with the round gold pendant. The one I _always_ wear."

"Haven't seen it. Why aren't you wearing it now if you always wear it?"

"I've misplaced it," I all but growled. I didn't say lost. Lost means you won't get it back, and I had to get this back.

Jane looked around the room as if it was a giant dog she might be able to see. She shrugged. "If I find it, I'll let you know. But don't count on it. Your mate has already turned her side of the room into a hippogriff pen."

She was right—Diana's side was a mess, which is most unfortunate because I spend half my time in this room on that side. Still, I scoured through her things, and then I looked through Mary's part of the room. I even took a peek around Eileen's stuff, but when I silently made my way to Jane's bed, she said, "Don't bother, Red. It's not there," her deep brown eyes narrowly trained on me.

Before I left, I focused all my energy on convincing myself my necklace was in there, hiding under someone's robe. "_Accio necklace_," I whispered. Regretfully, the only thing I got from that was more anxiety.

I went to the library next, sure that I would not be able to get breakfast this morning. No one stood among the hundreds of stacks of leather books, and no one sat at the rickety wooden tables sporadically placed among the enormous room. It was simply too early for anyone to be worrying about homework. Even the crammers were running out of time.

Madame Kester, the librarian, was placing some thick books the width of my head on the shelves. I read the spine of one as I quickly walked by. It was called, _Magic and the Brain_. I wondered if there was a spell to transport my mind to the exact second I lost the necklace.

After calmly passing Kester, I silently sprinted towards my favorite study spot, the one I had been using since first year: a table with four chairs on the outskirts of the rows of books that were brown, blue, black, green, grey, and some so old I questioned what color they were originally. It wasn't too far from the library entrance, but it did have a window behind the table that if you craned your neck just so, it allowed you to see the Quidditch Pitch.

My necklace was not there either. It wasn't under the table, around the corner, or anywhere in the library. My last glimmer of hope was the Common Room. (Not Gryffindor's, because I had already checked there on my way out, but my Common Room. Well, mine and Potter's.) When I got to the Head Common Room, I looked around the wooden table against the wall, then the couch and two armchairs, and then I looked…everywhere. To be honest, I don't really remember what I did. All I know is that all the pillows were thrown off the furniture, cushions were withdrawn, chairs were pushed around, and the fireplace got dangerously close to singeing my hair.

"Bloody hell!" I couldn't help but shout. "This is shite!" Somehow a pillow got hurled across the room, knocking over and breaking a lamp. Rumor has it, it was a redhead girl gone mad. Not to worry, Healers have taken her into their care and she is undergoing extensive therapy.

"_Evans_?" said a voice from behind me, not even bothering to hide the plentiful shock. "What…" I slowly turned to see Potter staring at me, his bag slung over his shoulders. "Happened," he finished flatly. I feel as if the proper question would have been more like "What in God's name is wrong with you?" or "What has this Common Room ever done to you?" Perhaps maybe Potter should have even asked, "What's going to happen to the Head Girl position now that you've cracked?"

I still only had half my hair brushed. I expect I looked like a night troll.

"Have you seen my necklace?" I demanded over my shoulder, striding over to the lamp to fix it. I cringed inwardly when I saw the brown metal base now in pieces. Whoops.

"The gold one?"

"Yes."

"No, not recently. Did you lose it?"

"No, I know exactly where it is, Potter," I snapped. "I just want to make sure you know where all my personal belongings are." I wanted to jinx him and his stupid hair and stupid eyes and stupid face.

Potter opened his mouth. Then he closed it. He looked around the room and then settled his eyes on me. I felt my face heat up. I wanted to tell him to quit looking at me, but for once I kept my mouth shut around him, and instead I tried to smooth down my hair.

"If I knew being Head Boy meant having to deal with your madness this early in the morning, I would have chucked the badge into the ocean the second I got it. Good luck, Evans," he said, turning to go back into his room and casually throwing his hand over his shoulder, as if he realized it would have been proper to wave goodbye to me but not caring enough to turn around to do it.

Bugger.

"I'm sorry!" I screamed at his retreating form. I slapped my hand over my mouth, appalled at what I was saying, but when he paused and turned around, I hastily removed it. I got the feeling my look of horror would negate the apology. "I'm sorry I said that. It was a rude thing to say. I'm just a tad unnerved."

"Because you can't find your necklace?"

_And because you were being a weird combination of judgmental and nice_, I thought, but I didn't say it.

"Yeah. I just… It's important. I always have it on me, and now I… don't," I finished lamely. The pillow in my hand was a brilliant scarlet with gold thread woven through to create an impressive—albeit scratchy—pillow. Gold like the necklace I was sure I would never see again.

"Where've you looked so far?" asked Potter hesitantly, testing the waters.

I paused to remind myself he appeared to be honest. Plus, I did say I would judge him on how he acts now. He wasn't so bad then. I had to be not-so-bad in return. It's like dancing with a hippogriff—one wrong move and I'm dead. (Not physically in this case, though.) (Probably.)

"Here, my room, the library, the Common Room, and Mary and Diana's room."

"Oh. Well, I hope you find it."

"Thanks." I placed the cushions back onto the couch, avoiding eye contact. I felt like I might have started crying, and I might sooner gouge out my eyes than have Potter see me shed tears.

"Right."

After I heard him return back to his dorm and presumably go down to class, I flopped down on the coach with a loud groan. I buried my face into the cushions, even though they smelled like socks. Probably Potter's socks, to make it worse. I tried to replay every move I made all week, but nothing stood out to me. I didn't even have it narrowed down to that it was definitely in the castle, because Diana and I had gone to visit Hagrid—the groundskeeper—two days ago! Surely, though, I just lost it last night, I reasoned. I would have noticed in a heartbeat if the necklace was missing. It couldn't have been off my person for more than a few hours. But then I could not remember a single moment I consciously saw it all week.

_What was with Potter, too?_ I thought. He was acting all weird and concerned. _He was probably just trying to mess with me_, I figured. _It was all a joke._

Except when I thought of joke, I thought of prank, and when I thought of prank I thought of when Potter had shampoo bottles follow Severus around or when Potter blew up Ralph's soup in his face or when Potter turned the skin of the Slytherin Quidditch players red. I thought of all the unfunny pranks Potter has pulled simply for his own amusement over the years. Suddenly, I was convinced this was another one. He had stolen my necklace to freak me out. That was surely it.

He stole my necklace. He bloody took it from me! I didn't know how, but I was convinced he did. He would probably keep it hidden from me for a few days then try to exchange its return with something inappropriate or a promise to help him in his mischievous endeavors.

I was on my feet, pacing and raving. "I'm going to wring his neck," I mumbled. But before I put myself in Azkaban for murder, I was going to get my necklace back. I marched over to Potter's door and pounded on it. No answer.

My hand was twisting the doorknob (he left it unlocked!), when some obscure, rational part of me that needs to make more frequent appearances said, _Really? You really think Potter stole your necklace? _

I did. There was no way I lost my most prized possession on my own. It had to be someone else's fault, and I would put the blame on Potter until further notice.

I took my hand off the doorknob. _Would Potter really take it, though?_ I asked myself. He had nothing to gain from it. Plus, Potter was a prankster. He wasn't cruel.

My hand found the doorknob again. _Well then, what was the incident by the Black Lake after our O.W.L.s with Severus?_ He was certainly cruel then.

I stepped away from the door. He and his mates were cruel to Severus. Sev and Potter brought out the worst in each other; everyone knew that their little rivalry had grown into something ugly over the years. That didn't mean Potter was cruel to everyone, and not to me. Not really.

"No, no, no," I muttered. I ran back to the couch and properly arranged the cushions. I sat on my hands and stared into the fireplace. What was wrong with me? Sure, Potter used to be slimier than a dragon's liver, but I shouldn't go around blaming him for everything.

I tried to think about where else my necklace could be, but the longer I thought about that the more convinced I became that it wouldn't be really that bad if I did take a peek in Potter's room. Perhaps someone found it and gave it to the Head Boy. That's a totally reasonable explanation as to why I had the right to look in his room for my necklace. I wasn't looking as Lily Evans, an obsessive, accusing detective; I was looking as the Head Girl, a responsible leader who looked into every possibility.

Potter's room can best be described as an organized mess. His bed was made and the space around it was clean, but his wardrobe looked to be overflowing. There were at least two piles of dirty clothes on the floor, but there was also a folded pile of clothes on his trunk that I hoped was clean. I took one step in before swiftly turning around and going back to the Common Room. The shame at my ridiculousness had me lying down on the couch and shoving my face into a pillow. Classes were going to start soon, but my internal struggles were taking priority.

"Evans?" I heard a bit later. _Oh great, he's back._

"What, Potter?" The itchy pillow did not muffle my exasperation. At the clink of something dropping onto the table, I looked up.

There resting on the wood before me was my necklace. The round gold charm was glistening, the only markings on it was the curly 'E', nothing new. It was nearly perfect except for the broken clasp. "Oh, my god." I snatched it off the table and hastily stood up. "Where was it?"

"Third floor. I thought I remembered you wearing it at the start of patrols last night. It must have fallen off when we bumped into those Hufflepuffs last night."

I stared at it in my hand. "The clasp broke."

"There's a charm for that."

"I know it. Diana showed me once."

I flipped over the pendant in my hand, and then I examined the clasp. How could I have been so stupid? I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't find it.

"It looks like a Snitch," Potter said.

"Huh?" His cheeks darkened slightly. "Oh, yeah. It does, I guess." Weird. I never once made that comparison, but it makes sense coming from Potter. "You would say that, Potter. Whatever happened to that blasted Snitch you were always carrying around?"

He knicked a Snitch once at the end of our fifth year. It sounds impressive, but it's really not. He is the Quidditch captain after all. He probably just waltzed in the equipment closet and the Snitch flew into his hand. I first saw him with it after our D.A.D.A. O.W.L. (Merlin, it always comes back to that day doesn't it? I didn't even get an O on it to lessen the emotional pain. I barely scraped by with an E.) He would let it fly away and then catch it before it got too far. I remember Pettigrew loved watching it, but then again he loves anything Potter and his mates do. Since you're forcing me to be honest, it was slightly interesting to see how far he would let it go. The Snitch would extend just far enough that you would think that was it, he couldn't catch it, but somehow his long fingers would curl around it at the last second. I remember Mary and I watching him from the lake the first time he brought it out. It's a bit stupid, really. He's a Chaser, after all. I guess none of his pockets were large enough to fit a Quaffle, though.

"McGonagall thought that I was putting a shame to Quidditch. When I said that I was showing my expertise, she was not as amused as I had hoped for. She took five points and told me I better work on my team instead so that we can finally win the Cup."

I smiled wryly. When McGonagall's sass isn't directed towards you, it's marvelous. "Sounds like McGonagall. She sure does hate to lose in Quidditch." Just you wait, Professor. When Quidditch matches start coming around, no one takes them more seriously than McGonagall (even though she would never admit to her fanatics).

Potter faked a laugh. It was pathetic, really. He sounded a bit like a cat that got punched in the throat. Why bother at that point? "It's not as fascinating as a Snitch," he joked, "but it is nice." He gestured to the necklace in my hand.

"Thanks," I said, unsure whether to classify that as prat-ish or a sad attempt at being nice. Somewhere in between the two perfectly describes Potter so far this year. "My mum gave it to me."

Mum had taken Petunia and I out shopping a few years before she died. We were just supposed to be window browsing, but Petunia saw all these gold and silver necklaces with a rainbow of stones and a variety of pendants at one little store, and we ended up going in. Mom bought us all necklaces, each with a gold circle the size of a Knut with an 'E' engraved. It seemed tacky at first to all have matching necklaces, but Mum was so happy to buy them for us, we always wore them when she was around. When she wasn't around anymore at all, I started to always wear it.

Not that I told Potter any of this. Merlin.

Potter nodded solemnly. No one really knows what to do when you bring up your dead mother. "I'm glad you got it back then." He made his way towards his room.

"Oh! Yeah, honestly, thank you, James. I just… Thanks."

(I'm aware that was the lamest expression of appreciation in the history of the world, though, thanks.)

"It was nothing," said Potter with a shrug.

_What?_

He went out of his way to help me, and when I sincerely thank him and owe my emotional stability to him, he brushes it off? Is this even James Potter? Circe, just five minutes ago I was sure he had stolen my necklace!

The guilt really settled in then. We've been playing our parts for years: he messes up, I overreact, and we bicker and one of us jinxes the other. Yet this was a whole new script. There we stood, Potter was the hero, and I was in the wrong. Again. I hate being wrong.

I'm telling you. It's hard to keep acting like a twat when there isn't a toerag around to justify you're actions.

I was going to let him go. I planned to simply wallow in the guilt myself, but then my hands started to get sweaty and I felt an itch on my left palm and I knew I was in trouble.

"I thought you took it," I shouted at Potter's back. He stopped walking. "I thought you took my necklace."

He turned around. "That's stupid, Evans," he said bluntly.

"I know."

"Why would you—"

"I don't know."

"What were you—"

"I was going to look in your room."

"Merlin, what's wrong with you? I get that you think I'm the lowest kind of bloke, but I'm not the kind of wizard who—"

"I'm sorry."

That certainly shut him up.

"It would be nice if we didn't always end up yelling at each other, wouldn't it?" I asked. I felt silly saying it out loud, and I felt my face grow hot.

"Yeah," said Potter with a hint of caution. "It'd be just as nice if we stopped blaming each other for everything."

"Or if we could have patrols without deafening silence."

"It'd be nice if we could have civil conversations."

"Or if we were something like friends."

I still have no idea where that one came from. Even worse: I don't regret saying it.

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Maybe."

"Maybe we should go to class."

"Probably."

Pillows, tables, chairs, and lamps found their places again with a sweep of my wand, and then I was going through my room to gather my bag and throw my hair into a ponytail. Potter and I both had Transfiguration, so when I saw him walking down the halls I maybe jogged to catch up with him and maybe he slowed down to let me. McGonagall wasn't pleased that we were late but Potter told a good tale of an emergency the Head Boy and Girl had to deal with. Professor believed it instantly, after all, because there's no way Head Boy Potter and Head Girl Me were willingly together for a reason other than their jobs.

We sat in the back together in an empty row, because it felt silly to cause more of a spectacle to make our way to the front of the class to sit near our mates. (Peter actually saved Potter a seat next to him. Mary was next to Eileen. Honestly, I think Potter's mates are the better ones.) My skin didn't erupt into boils, and I didn't pass out just because I sat next to Potter. The worst thing that happened was that I had trouble focusing because I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. But then when I couldn't turn the cup into a working watch, Potter gave me a tip, and it actually worked. And I thanked him. And all he did was nod in return.

Potter and I haven't acknowledged each other for the rest of the day so far, but things feel a bit different. Maybe.

* * *

><p><strong>Ta da! I know those are not the grandest interactions, but I've got so much JamesLily planned, no one should be worried at all. I just like to include other stuff going on. **

**Also. How the heck do you write Prefect/prefect? Is it capitalized or not. 4 chapters in and I still have no idea. My apologies. **

**Thanks for reading, please follow/fav/review! Reviews of any kind are beautiful things.**

**MG**


	6. I Couldn't Agree More

**I am sooooo sorry. I can't believe this took me so long. My only excuse is that I went on holiday right at the end of my vacation and now I'm back at school and everything has been crazy with the new semester. Still-no excuses! **

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed: goolou20, Infinity Lily, TheMaknae [wow! so many compliments, you're too kind! Don't worry, some of those cliches are cliches for a reason and will be included here. :3 I was updating every week, but this one took about 3.5 weeks], EmeraldSunLight, Reegan, anon, bitemealienboy, lilyflower1345, and the guest reviewers!**

**Also, this is embarrassing, but I messed up in the last chapter. I wrote the slytherin pair switched rounds, but I realized then I had James and Lily patrol 2 days in a row, so I just rewrote it so that they switched with the Hufflepuffs, so they didn't have to patrol the 23rd (a Friday). In case anyone is wondering, I follow a real 1977 calendar, which includes full moon dates and such. Okay, enough rambling!**

* * *

><p><strong>Still September 23, 1977<strong>

You must have had some expectations when you assigned this ridiculous project, Professor Malek. I bet when you crack open these journals whenever you decide to give up the torture, you'll see a fair amount of dragon carcass across the pages. People will turn their thoughts on how we have too much homework into novels. I expect many students will discuss Quidditch or things like that. I've heard some give play-by-play details of one game for hours without ever tiring. Seventh years will stress about N.E.W.T.s, fifth years will agonize over O.W.L.s, first years will describe how wonderful Hogwarts is in excruciating detail simply because Hogwarts is excruciatingly wonderful, especially as an eleven year old.

Assuming you know anything about females, you must have prepared yourself for all the girls who will treat these pages as a close friend and will write about their crushes and love and kisses. They'll pore over every fact, going into great detail how attractive so-and-so is. Ninnies like Melanie will do this.

You probably didn't expect the Head Girl to continually express her passionate dislike of the popular and, unfortunately, mildly attractive Head Boy.

I apologize for that. It must not be very enjoyable to read about how detestable Potter is, but fear not! That part of my life is in the past. Because Potter and I are… friends? I keep replaying this morning in my head over and over, but I'm still not sure what even happened! I haven't had a chance to discuss it either. The only relief I've gotten is from writing it all out to you before, but that was when I was in the library while Diana and Mary went to Care of Magical Creatures, and I got no response back from you (obviously), so I still feel as if I'll explode!

But I think this is a good explosion. Maybe it is the opposite of explosion. What's the opposite of an explosion? An implosion? Whatever it is, I feel as if I have a weight off my shoulders. James Potter and I were nice to one another! And I said sorry! And I didn't pass out or die from saying it, and Potter didn't transform into a totally new person just for being nice. I'm finally going to get to be the Head Girl I always wanted to be because I'll have a partner I can civilly talk to and plan with.

Today, September 23, 1977, James Potter and Lily Evans have called for a ceasefire. This day shall go down in infamy.

All because I lost my necklace.

Thanks, Mum. And you rule-breaking Hufflepuffs. Couldn't have done it without you.

* * *

><p><strong>Later<strong>

Oh, right. The point of that was not to talk about Potter—again. The point was, I likely haven't given a very good impression so far. I know, I know. As Head Girl I should be kind and honest and a good leader. I am! I bet you even thought wonderful things of me as Lily Evans before this journal. (All accurate impressions, I assure you.) That previous disgust towards a certain boy is not normal, I will admit, but that is behind me. Surely, Potter and I will never bicker again. Not a single argument. Times are changing.

So now, I will be that stereotypical bird. I had Ancient Runes today. With Bobby.

What a bloke.

When I got to class, I sat at my seat next to Remus. Professor had us sit with our partners that one class; now it was back to regular class sessions.

"Afternoon, Lily," Remus said to me with a smile. I felt like I haden't seen him in ages. I told him so. What I really wanted to tell him was that I'm now semi-mates with Potter. In fact, I wanted to scream it at him. If I couldn't tell Mary and Diana, I needed to at least tell Remus. One of the biggest things to happen to me, and at that point I've only told my professor. It wasn't exactly ideal.

"Well, we have only been back at school for less than a month," said Remus. "I'm sure Head Girl duties have been keeping you awfully busy."

"Ah, yes, Head duties." More like befriending previous enemies. "Those do keep me…" Building a better future for the entirety of Hogwarts by preventing any future Potter/Evans spats? "…active."

Remus nodded knowingly. Does he know? Maybe Potter had already ran and told his mates. "Have you started your project with Bobby?"

"Nah, not really," I said. "We decided to do an evolution of runes through the centuries in class, but we haven't done much otherwise. We've got plenty of time. Who's your partner again?"

"Avery."

"I'm so sorry."

Remus laughed. "It could be worse," he said with some conviction while shrugging his shoulders. Right.

"Could it?"

He nodded.

"It can be worse than a racist, abusive boy who wouldn't hesitate to hex you and your mates or even an elderly woman hobbling up the street?"

"Yes." Somehow he managed to say that with a straight face.

"Remus Lupin, you're just a glowing ball of sunshine. I'm proud of you for that enthusiastically fake positivity."

He snorted. "Avery and I have been getting along great, Lily." At the sound of his name, Avery whipped around from his desk a few over. He sneered at us. Remus waved cautiously but with a smile. It was the perfect face of innocence. Avery responded with a very rude hand gesture.

How proud his mother must be.

"He's just shy of our budding friendship," Remus said earnestly. I started laughing and Remus joined in.

Slater came in then, so we were forced to stop the antics and pay attention. Remus, when not with his mates, actually lives up to the title of Prefect. He even meets the standards of Head Boy. I'm sending a Howler to Dumbledore one day, I swear it.

After class, I was packing up my stuff when Bobby walked over. "See you, Lily," said Remus, walking off. I waved him bye.

"Hello," I said brightly to Bobby. His black and yellow tie was perfectly tied, even though it was near the end of classes. Not very many blokes keep their uniforms looking orderly. It was cute.

"Hey," he said. "We should probably start working more specifically on our project, if that's okay."

"Oh, yes, definitely. When do you want to meet up?"

"Whenever you want," he said. We walked out of the classroom and through the corridors.

I wanted to suggest that night. But I also wanted him to think that I am a cool enough bird to have a schedule so busy I must check my calendar just to see if I have time to go to the library. Whether that's a true statement or not is entirely irrelevant, I assure you. "Anytime works for me. I patrol tomorrow and most of my other classes have been shockingly light on the work. I suspect it's all part of a giant ploy so the professors can eventually surprise us with it all."

Bobby laughed, showing off some teeth. They're very white, as if he puts as much effort into brushing them as he does studying. I like that. "You decide, Lily."

Well… I didn't have anything going on tonight. I just had to practice Transfiguration and read for Herbology, but I would rather do anything other than that. Oh, what the heck. Who needs to be aloof when you can be assertive, am I right?

(Please for my sake agree, Professor, because I wholly convinced myself of this in 2.7 seconds.)

"All right, then are you free this evening?" Wow, so bold, you go, Lily Evans. Make that Diana proud.

(Before you chuck this book across the room, which you should do and just give me the O, I was aware we were discussing a school project as assigned partners, thank you.)

He was free, so we agreed to meet up tonight to work on our assignment, but we were to get dinner together first at six.

Now I'm waiting for Mary to meet me in my Common Room so I could check her Potions essay. I figured I would work on filling this bugger.

Friends with Potter. Journal. Ancient Runes. Time with Bobby. I'm being awfully productive today. It's a splendid feeling, I'll admit. Much better than the one I woke up with.

* * *

><p><strong>LATER<strong>

I didn't get a chance to tell Mary or Diana about meeting up with Bobby later or my new relationship with Potter. They gave me quizzical looks when I had entered Transfiguration with him this morning, and they tried to ask my about it, but I didn't tell them anything. I did not say anything even when Mary asked in the Common Room. This is major news. I couldn't just start the story in the middle of a corridor on our way to class or with only one of them. I need their full, undivided attention.

I did tell you, my new best friend, my male professor, though, and that's what matters, right?

Hah.

* * *

><p><strong>LATER<strong>

Sorry the pages are so crinkled. I tossed the book a tad harder than I intended to. (Maybe.) Oops.

* * *

><p><strong>LATER<strong>

_THIS IS AN EMERGENCY STOP COMRADE LILY HAS DIRE NEWS STOP IT CONCERNS JAMES POTTER STOP THE WORLD MAY BE ENDING STOP MEET IN HEAD GIRL ROOM AT 14:30 STOP BRING BUTTERBEER STOP_

That's what the letters that I left on Mary and Diana's bed before DADA said. About halfway through, I realized Diana wouldn't get the Muggle reference, but at least Mary would laugh.

I am truly hilarious.

* * *

><p><strong>LATER <strong>

I ran into Mary in the corridor outside of the Defense classroom, walking with Josceline and Kara McKinnon, presumably from Care of Magical Creatures. She ran up to me and grabbed my arm.

"Where have you been all day?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, you know," I said casually, "class, my dormitory, making friends with Potter, the usual."

"You did _what_?"

I smiled. That was the reaction I was hoping for. "Yes, you have heard right. I am now friends with James Potter. We've called a truce, and we're never going to argue ever again."

Mary incredulously glanced at me as we continued to walk to class. "Is this a joke?"

"Nope," I said, popping the 'p.' "It's entirely true, and it may be a sign that I've gone completely mad, but who cares, right?"

"All right, you need to explain what happened."

I shook my head. "I want to tell you and Diana together."

"Screw Diana, tell me."

Yet I refused. When we sat with Diana in class and then Diana demanded I explain what had happened and why we were late this morning, I still get my lips tight. It was so much fun, I realized I should have called a truce with Potter years ago.

I paid closer attention to him today in class. We don't sit near each other and there was never a time where we made eye contact or talked to each other, but I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Don't judge. I need to know what kind of friend I made, since it basically is a brand new James Potter. He's still infuriatingly good in class, unfortunately. We were in pairs again today, and each pair was given two very large apples. One person had to put as many protection spells on it as he could, while the other had to use any and all spells to penetrate the shield and blow up the apple. It didn't seem like much of a lesson, but we students love the application of spells, and none of that theory nonsense. Potter blew up Remus's apple rather quickly. Marlene blew up mine after only six tries.

Potter and his mates started slinging the apple bits at each other, and a couple went down the back of Mulciber's robes, but I looked away and pretended not to see my new mate acting in such a childish way. I need the honeymoon to last longer.

After class, Diana and Mary again asked me to tell them what happened.

"Go to your rooms first," I said.

"Why? Don't be a snob, Lils, just tell us," said Diana with an irritated huff. How rude.

"Just do it. I think you have letters on your beds."

They looked at each other, then back at me. "So?"

Ugh. "I put very amusing letters on your beds telling you to meet me in my room so I can explain the story. And to bring Butterbeer."

Mary wrinkled her nose. "Why couldn't you just have told us after class?"

I chose to roll my eyes as my response. I need more fun mates.

Fortunately for me, they reacted precisely as to how I was hoping when I told them about Potter. Diana cheered when I told her he had found my necklace and even clapped when I described our "maybe" ceasefire. Mary nodded approvingly and said, "Good. Grudges cause wrinkles."

We got a late lunch after that. (Well, Mary and I did. Diana said she wanted to nap instead.) Mary and I came back to my room after that, and she was like a wound-up alarm clock before she met with Ben. She barreled herself into my room with half a dozen outfit choices. I thought maybe she wanted advice, but I wouldn't have been able to edge in a word of Lily Wisdom if my life depended on it.

I have no clue what their date is. How can one really have dates within the castle? I think the broom cupboards and spaces behind tapestries stop counting after the first few times. Nevertheless, I wasn't going to say that. The poor bird was a cross between a delicate teacup and a storming dragon.

"But what if he takes me outside?" she asked, pacing back and forth in front of me. "Should I bring a sweater with me? The wind gets a little brisk in the evening. No, why would we go outside? Unless we were watching the sun set… That's awfully romantic. No, we'll probably stay inside. Maybe even just his room. What if his roommates are there? That's so improper!…"

I questioned whether she was still taking breaths. All her energy was going to her wringing hands, pacing feet, and moving mouth. Diana was off napping. I suggested Mary do this as well since she was talking herself into exhaustion, but she didn't hear me. Or chose to ignore me.

Mary kept thinking aloud until she looked at the slim black watch on her wrist and yelped. "How did it get so late?"

She forced a laugh and said to wish her luck. I said a silent prayer for her before she left and gave her a giant hug.

I hope tonight goes well, but I can't help feeling unnerved that it is with Ben.

* * *

><p><strong>LATER<strong>

One day I will have to send some sweets to Slater as a 'thank you' for this project and assigning me to work with Bobby. (Actually, just the assigning part; this project is the worst.) Bobby is the perfect Ancient Runes partner.

I'll admit, he isn't much fun once we are in the library, since all he wants to do is work. I get it, I do. We were slightly behind schedule, and his perseverance is impressive. If I ever go into the library with someone, it always takes me almost one-third longer because of the conversational breaks. Yet studying with someone you can talk to also makes the library three times more bearable.

Fortunately, Bobby did suggest we get dinner beforehand.

I headed down to the Great Hall a few minutes after six. I very well couldn't show up first, could I? He was sitting at the Gryffindor table, which I was thankful for. He was with Eileen and it seemed that they were animatedly chatting about something. I sat next to Eileen, across from Bobby. (I invited Diana to come, but she said she wasn't hungry, that lazy bum.)

"Hi, Lily."

"Hey, Lils!" said Eileen. "We were just talking about the plants Professor Radford said he would be bringing next week for class. I don't know about you, but I am not a fan of the idea of having to deal with bushes that try to pull you inside their confines."

I shook my head as I piled my plate with food. "I had hoped N.E.W.T. Herbology would have been more on the interesting side, not the life-threatening side."

"When have classes at Hogwarts been anything but life-threatening, though?" Bobby asked.

Eileen and I wholeheartedly agreed. "I don't know," I said. "Astronomy fourth year before Pilfer left sure felt like nap time to me."

"But you were always at risk of falling asleep on top of your telescope!" Eileen pointed out.

"Didn't you do that once?"

She groaned.

"I think Herbology has been fairly interesting these first weeks," admitted Bobby, "especially from the medicinal perspective."

"Is that something you want to do after school?" I asked. It's weird asking your friends that. Everyone has a different plan, when after all this time we had just tried to survive exams and win the House Cup.

"I want to be a Healer," he said, almost shyly. Shy about a selfless job? What kind of bloke is this and why aren't there more of him? "What about you girls?"

"I'm also thinking of being a Healer, but with more of a focus on the therapy and recovery side," said Eileen. She swept her light brown bangs out of her face and smiled at me. I managed not to say my 'Wow' aloud.

"What about you, Lily?" asked Bobby sincerely.

"Something with potions, I expect." That answer had been fine for the past two years. Potions—that's something I know I'm good at. It would be a fine job too, I suppose. I could work for St. Mungo's with healing potions, one of the established wizarding potion stores, or plenty of other places. The problem is, that answer hasn't been able to do it for me now. It's not so obvious when I think about it, but when I say "something with potions" nowadays, my stomach swoops—and not in the good way.

"That's great," said Eileen. "You would be awesome at that."

"You have been the best in Potions since the first day of school."

Their sincerity almost made me believe I could be satisfied working as a Brewer. Almost.

We started to talk a bit more about Potions after that, including how we have heard from past students that the N.E.W.T. Potions Practical is so bloody difficult, you should anticipate getting an entire letter lower than what you normally get. This led into more N.E.W.T. talk, which is a topic that few seventh years will ever stop fretting over until the year is actually finished. Eileen had to meet up with Emma, a seventh year Ravenclaw, after about five minutes, leaving Bobby and I alone.

Somehow our conversation turned to Quidditch, which then turned to football. Mary is a Muggleborn like myself, but it was nice to talk to another one, as if we really aren't that rare.

"Muggleborns spotted in the Great Hall: not as atypical as we thought. Approach with caution!"

Before he came to Hogwarts, Bobby used to play football with "a manic obsession," he claimed. He planned to spend his life playing football, but when he realized he couldn't play year-round like his teammates if he went to Hogwarts, he gave up the dream.

I asked why he didn't play Quidditch if he was such an athlete as a boy.

"Couldn't do it. I barely made it through flying lessons. Something about being that high up with a twig holding my life does not bode well with me."

I laughed.

"Did you ever want to play Quidditch?"

A flush crept up my neck to the tips of my ears. "Oh, yeah. I heard about it before I even came to school. I was never good at Muggle sports, so I fully believed Quidditch was my chance to become a star athlete." I rolled my eyes and laughed at the memories I was conjuring. I was a confident, delusional pipsqueak. "I loved the flying part, but when Mary, Diana, and I tried out second year, we were all cut. Turns out I am most definitely not talented enough to stay aloft on a broom and use my hands for catching anything. It all worked out, considering Potter is now Captain and I could never have survived that."

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. "That would've been a lot of pressure."

Sure, Bobby, I couldn't have Potter be my Captain because of…the pressure. What a naïve boy.

"Oi, speaking of the Captain…" Bobby nodded behind me and I turned to see Potter walking towards us. Oh, God.

Wait—not "oh, God." We were friends now. I had nothing to worry about, right?

Wrong. That was our first test of being friends. "Oh, God" was a perfect response.

Bobby raised a hand and waved at Potter, who had the faintest bit of curiosity on his face before stopping at our table.

"Oh, God," I muttered.

"Sorry?" said Bobby.

Oh, God.

"Hey, Potter," said Bobby.

"Flitter, Evans. How's it going?" He looked at Bobby and then me, and if we hadn't already established that I am totally mad, I would write that he gave Bobby a cursory glance but looked at me for much longer. Good thing I'm totally mad then.

"Great," I nearly squeaked. "And you?"

"Never better," he said, much more confidently than me. Wait. A lot more confidently than me. Much smoother. As if he was talking to McGonagall or Mary.

Hang on—what if Potter doesn't even care that we're friends? What if I'm over here freaking out because Potter and I have taken a big step together—no longer enemies! Does it get any bigger?—and he hasn't given it two Knuts worth of thought. Bugger, I swear if this is true…

Anyway, back to the story.

"Care to join us?" Bobby gestured at the open seat next to me.

Rather unfortunately, I took a large bite of chicken a second before to stop myself from blurting anything out stupid, and when Bobby asked Potter—my new friend—to sit, I was so _pleasantly_ _surprised_ that I quickly swallowed the food in my mouth. Swallowed is a generous term. A more appropriate phrasing would be that I choked on my food after attempting to hide my shock, and then I coughed violently for approximately 23 seconds before being capable of swallowing my chicken.

Bobby and Potter stared at me. "Are you okay?" they asked simultaneously.

I hurriedly picked up my goblet of water and gulped it down. A casual thumbs up—commonly seen from seven year olds trying to be cool—was my response.

"Er, I'll just sit down there," said Potter with a vague gesture. "My mates should be here any minute and I don't want to intrude…" He avoided looking at me, and I could feel our friendship unraveling.

"No, no!" I said. "It's fine." I think my dad back home in Cokeworth could hear the roughness in my voice from nearly choking.

"O—kay." Potter sat down.

"Lily and I were just talking about you actually," said Bobby.

"Oh, yeah? Bet there were a lot of positive adjectives in that conversation," he joked.

Bobby laughed, and I followed suit. In that second, I came to the conclusion that I'm not cut out for this friendship thing.

"No, nothing like that. We were talking about Quidditch."

"Really? What about?"

"How rubbish I was when I tried out in second year," I said, "and how my dream of being mildly talented at a sport disappeared in a single failed Quaffle catch."

Potter laughed. "I remember that! I don't think it was a single failed catch, though."

"All right, maybe it was thirteen, but who kept track? I seem to remember some prick kept throwing the Quaffle at my face and off to the sides to see if I had 'the true agility of a Chaser.'"

"That sounds awful," said Bobby.

"Hmm," I said noncommittally while smirking at Potter. I appreciated his blush and attempt to pick off invisible lint from his sleeve.

Prick.

"Did you ever want to play Quidditch, Flitter?" asked Potter, changing topics.

"Never. I hate flying." He laughed at Potter's aghast face. "It was always football for me—a Muggle sport," he clarified.

"Oh, yeah, I've heard of football. You still play now?"

"Nah. I was telling Lily, I couldn't even make a reserve team at this point. Football used to be the dream when I was younger—lived and breathed it—but I couldn't play much once I got my letter to come here. I don't even mind that I'm last to get picked for a team when I play with my mates in the summer, so long as I can play." He smiled good-naturedly.

Potter nodded seriously. "And you never regretted abandoning the football dream to come here?"

"Not for a second." Bobby looked to me. "What about you, Lily? Do you wish you were back in our world?"

What a large question for such a casual meeting.

But "our world"… Like it only belonged to us. No Purebloods, no followers of evil wizards, no blood prejudices… Just us Muggleborns and our families.

"Never," I said. I paused longer than Bobby did, but my answer was one of the truest ones I have ever given. In this world, I may have lost my sister and best friend, and people may hate me because of my family, and life may be harder for me in this scary world for a bit, but I would never give it up.

The hard, scary, sad stuff is worth it all. This… this is _magic_.

"Prongs!" shouted out Sirius from the end of the table. He was fast approaching with Pettigrew at his tail.

A quarter of a second before, I could have sworn Potter had mumbled, "Good," in a fiercer tone than his decibel level, but—again—I'm mad. What do I know?

Potter left to eat with his friends, and Bobby and I walked to the library. I asked a lot of questions about his family. No way was I leaving room for him to ask about my deceased mother and my sister who treats me as if I was. At the library, it was all work, but he did walk me back to the Fat Lady afterwards.

Bobby is a nice bloke to be with. It's easy. I like that.

Hopefully it'll be easy with Potter, too. I would really like that.

* * *

><p><strong>September 24, 1977<strong>

It was a very long Saturday, Professor. I wish I could say that I had so many assignments to work on that I was locked in the library all day. Instead I was locked in the seventh year girls' dormitory. It was worse than any homework could have been.

It is safe to say that Mary's evening with Ben did not go as plan. It is also safe—albeit rude—to say that I thought something like this would happen. There is just something about Ben.

(Speaking to my professor: Ben isn't the nicest boy in the world.)

(Speaking to my ridiculous journal: Ben is a wanker that deserves to be punched in the nose.)

I'm not going to write the whole thing out for you. To start, I probably couldn't tell it half as dramatically or emotionally as the story deserves. Second, I'm sure you will read about it in Mary's journal. (Merlin, I can't believe that you actually plan to read every student's journal. How could one possibly make it through a page—let alone entire book—of thoughts from people like Lockhart or Bellatrix Black, the definition of a twat? Bless you for trying at least.) Last but not least, I simply _cannot_ write it. I have already dissected every aspect of the evening about twelve times.

Basically, here's what happened:

Ben profusely told Mary how gorgeous she looked as they went to the Astronomy Tower, where he recounted how he knew she was the one for him after they paired up that day in Herbology. There was snogging. There was also a blanket for them to sit with and eat Mary's favorite dessert, Chocolate Mice with strawberry ice cream. They ate and laughed and it was "truly wonderful." After dessert, Ben insisted they return to his dorm. All of his roommates were gone, which Mary said was good, because it would have been impossible for all the candles and even one more person to fit in the room. I'm foggy on the details here (not that details are necessary) because this is usually when Mary would start crying, but the general idea is that things progressed but all Mary could think about was what if a candle fell and the whole place burst into flames. She couldn't stop thinking about it, which meant she couldn't stop talking about it. Ben, the arse, said it was "destroying the mood," which Mary still feels guilty over. Except then Mary said she didn't know what she wanted, and she claimed to be allergic to the candles and she should probably come back to the Tower. Ben threw a fit, raging about how he brought her her favorite food, set up a hundred candles, and did it all for her. He said, "We're in love, Mary. I deserve something back at this point."

(Yeah, I know! Boys.)

That rightfully set Mary off and she stormed out, indignant and saying she doesn't deserve to be treated like a piece of food. I applaud her at this point, but Mary's resolve significantly weakened when she was back in her room. She cried for about two hours.

After the library, I found her blubbering into her pillow as Diana tried to get her to talk about it. It took an hour of coaxing to get her to start talking and about another hour to have her finish telling the whole thing.

Diana and I were not sure what to say at first. We finally found words, but they were not the right ones.

"He was a prick, anyway," Diana had said. "You deserve someone else."

"I never liked him, if that makes you feel better," I offered. It didn't.

Mary's jaw hung slack and her red-rimmed eyes scanned our faces. When she finally spoke, it was a wail. "You think we broke up?!" She threw herself back onto the bed. "I thought it was just a spat! We're supposed to be happily together again by Tuesday!" Now that I'm explaining it all to you, Professor, I should have seen that part coming.

It was all very dramatic and totally out of Diana's and my area. Especially when all we wanted to say was, "Forget about the idiot." There was a lot of back rubbing and hair petting before she finally went to bed. She didn't leave her room at all this morning, instead choosing to replay the entire night over and over. After a few hours, I would qualify myself as "Professional Listener." Around lunchtime, Diana and I couldn't take much longer. We called upon Saint Eileen to take our spots while we got ourselves food.

When we got back, Mary was crying again, which honestly made me want to turn around and march right out. It was a light cry, though, so Dianna and I proceeded slowly.

"That's barmy, Mary," Eileen was forcefully saying. "You did absolutely nothing wrong. You're a sweet, thoughtful, and beautiful girl. Honestly, I have no idea what got into Ben. I can talk to him if you would like, but I think you should. You clearly care for him. You two should work it out."

Diana and I glanced at each other. We do not agree with Eileen.

Mary, however, sniffled before nodding her head. "Yeah, you're right."

Eileen beamed at her. "Of course I am. Now look at what your mates brought you. You need to eat after all that crying." She smacked a kiss on the top of Mary's head before jumping off her bed. I felt myself force a smile. Sometimes Eileen reminds me of a mum. Which reminds me of my mum.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay? Just stop being so hard on yourself!" With something similar to a skip, Eileen was gone, leaving Diana and I alone with Mary. I don't know where Jane was. It feels like she's never around. She's almost always with the McKinnon girls.

"Well," I said, "it's hard to follow a bird like that."

"She's right, though, isn't she?" asked Mary with a straight face. She tied her dark brown hair into a bun on the top of her head. It flopped over on its side, but she didn't notice. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Dianna threw herself ungracefully on Mary's bed and handed her one of the apples we snagged from the kitchens. "You saying this whole mess is your fault would rightfully earn you a wrap on the head, I can tell you that."

I handed Mary the plate of chicken, rice, and vegetables. "I second that motion. Although there's no way you're that thick… right?"

"No," said Mary as she shook her head. It wasn't very convincing. I looked at her incredulously. "_No_," she said again, this time much more forcefully. "I'm going to tell him that Monday, too."

"Good." Diana nodded approvingly. "Now for the love of Agrippa, can we _please_ talk about something else? I'm pretty sure I dreamed about you and Ben last night because that's all my brain has been hearing."

Mary flicked a carrot at Diana, but we did talk about other things, thankfully.

I do wonder if Ben is taking this put-your-heart-in-a-journal nonsense seriously. (Or if anyone is.) I sure would love to see what he's been writing.

* * *

><p><strong>September 25, 1977 <strong>

I worked in the Heads Common Room all morning. I had enough homework to send me to the library (ten pages to translate for Ancient Runes and an entire roll of parchment on the medicinal purposes of the bifflebush for Herbology? No, thank you), but I was too afraid that if I left the solitude of my Head Girl quarters, I would run into someone I know. Particularly Mary or Diana. Mostly because I rarely have self-restraint when they suggest we sit around and read _Witch Weekly_ instead of do work, but also because I was afraid Mary would want to talk about Ben again.

I know. Godric Gryffindor is rolling over in his grave in shame.

I had multiple textbooks, quills, and parchments spread out over one of the tables. I had been studying for about two hours (read: I turned my parchment purple, then red and gold plaid, then doodled on it before finally opening a book to see what bifflebushes actually do) when Potter came down the steps.

To say I was mildly surprised would be an understatement. To say that my surprise made any sense at all since it's also his Common Room is also wrong..

"Hey," I choked out. Be cool, Evans. Be cool.

"Hullo," said James, looking around the room. He ran his hand through his hair. I cringed internally. Why was I nervous around him? He's still Potter, for Circe's sake. "Mind if I join?"

I hesitated. At my table? I wouldn't even share a table this size with Severus our first year, I was so picky. It drove him crazy. Our solution was to find a table in the back of the library that comfortably fit four people.

James gestured to the couch near the fireplace.

"Oh, yeah, sure, sure." It wasn't like it was my room. He flopped down on the couch with his quill, an unidentifiable book, and rolls of parchment.

It wasn't that the incessant scribbling of his quill bothered me; it was that the incessant scribbling mystified me. What could he possibly be writing? Potter doesn't work. Ever. I couldn't even give him the benefit of studying for N.E.W.T.s since N.E.W.T.s are seven months and two weeks away. He wouldn't start studying for seven months, one week, and five days!

After about an hour, I couldn't take it anymore. The fire crackled, the wind beat against a window, and my slightly uncomfortable chair creaked with every movement. Yet all I heard was Potter's cryptic writing scratching away, begging to be asked for its purpose.

Standing up slowly, I craned my neck to see what he was writing, but my hand slipped off the table and my parchment went flying. I needed a lesson in spying from Tuney.

I tried to keep it in, I did. Truly. That's probably why I suddenly blurted out, "What are you working on?" It was a nice pleasant yell in our confined quarters.

Bollocks.

"It was Quidditch plays," he replied. "But now I'm writing in Malek's journal."

"_You're doing that?_" I asked incredulously. People are taking this project seriously? Ew. Why?

(No offense, sir.)

He looked over at me and grimaced. "I think my mum would murder me if she found out I failed because I couldn't muster up enough emotions to keep a measley journal. Then she would probably send me to a therapist."

Huh. I wondered how he knows what a therapist is. I didn't think the wizard versions were a popular or known profession.

In response, I shrugged. I guess that made sense. "What are you writing about?" I automatically said without thinking of what I was really asking.

"We've only been maybe-friends for two days and you already want to know all my secrets, Evans?" he joked with half a grin. "I don't think I knew what I was getting myself into."

My heart stopped and then started quickly beating again, embarrassingly enough. So we are maybe-friends!

"We've been maybe-friends for two days and you _don't_ want to share all your secrets, Potter? Change of plans—this isn't going to work out."

He laughed and I smiled triumphantly. "Fine. I've heard your rubbish with secrets, anyway."

I gasped. Me? Rubbish with secrets? Why, that's the biggest lie I've ever heard! I said so. "I've never even heard of anyone telling you secrets, Potter," I pointed out.

"That's because I'm so good at keeping secrets—you don't even know they exist."

Well. What does any self-respecting witch who doesn't want to dig a deeper hole for herself say to that? Nothing. She turns back to her homework and pretends she heard nothing.

"I did write three pages on which ice cream at Florean Fortesue's ice cream parlor in Diagon Alley is best, though."

"Huh?"

Potter held up his blue journal and shook it. Ah. Smart strategy.

"What was your conclusion?"

"A mixture of clotted cream and toffee, obviously."

"Write to your mother and prepare her for the disappointment, because Malek's going to fail you on that horrible assessment alone."

"Oi!" He sat up and set his journal aside, facing me. "All right, then, Ice Cream Queen, what's the best flavor?"

Ice Cream Queen… I like it.

"Earl grey and lavender, duh. A close second is the pink coconut one he makes with Honeyduke's."

Professor, if you disagree—go ahead and fail me now. I will die standing by this belief.

Potter just shook his head. "I don't think we can be maybe-friends, Evans. You've already ruined it."

"I couldn't agree more." My laugh was too loud for that tiny Common Room and too unfamiliar for the two of us, and Potter's chuckle was too low and too polite, and the whole thing was entirely uncomfortable but in a good way. Potter seemed bearable, and he made me feel even more confident that this maybe-friendship thing was a good idea. Except for his awful taste in ice cream. Merlin.

I turned back to my essay. "What are you working on?"

"Herbology essay."

"Oh, right. It's on keeler twigs, right?"

I looked up at him. What?

His eyebrows knit together and he cocked his head to the side. "Bugger, no? Wait, it's on bifflebushes!"

I continued my staring. Is he serious?

"Not that either? I could have sworn Moony said bifflebushes…"

"It's on bifflebushes." It was just sad watching him trying to figure it out. "I'm assuming you haven't done it yet."

"Nah, I've got time."

"It's due tomorrow."

"I guess I'll do it tomorrow." He shrugged as if he really didn't care. Like, _maybe_ he would do it tomorrow. _Maybe_ he would fly around the world. _Maybe_ he would cure a disease.

"It's due tomorrow, Potter." How thick could he get? "Just do it now."

"It's just an essay, Evans," he said with a significantly sharper tone than before. "What's the big deal?"

"Why would you wait until tomorrow? That's about as lazy as it gets!"

"Believe it or not, Evans, some things are more important than pointless essays on something I'll never give a second thought about."

"Like Quidditch plays?" What an idiot. Quidditch plays aren't going to get him a job after school. Oh, right. I guess he doesn't need one since he's James I-Bathe-In-Pure-Gold Potter.

"All right, sorry, _Mum_."

"You—" I shook my head again and turned back to my work. He was Head Boy and it was our last year. It wasn't even a pointless class like Divination or Astronomy. It was Herbology! Nearly everyone continues in Herbology. I don't understand how he can care so little. "Never mind, Potter. Do whatever you want."

"You always have," I mumbled under my breath.

Potter loudly exhaled—I could hear the annoyance—before turning away from me and returning to his "work."

Maybe we really aren't cut out to be maybe-friends.

No one said anything for another hour. Potter gathered his things and left then. I wanted to leave the tense atmosphere as soon as Potter put his back towards me, but I'm stubborn and I was there first. On his way out, he said, "See you," over his shoulders.

It was then that I remembered we have patrols tonight. Bugger.

* * *

><p><strong>Technically September 26, 1977<strong>

I had briefly considered hexing off my own foot so that I wouldn't have to go on patrols, but then I realized I would probably end up hobbling around and doing them anyway. Sometimes I'm even annoyed by myself.

Potter was there first, and he was talking with Kara, Hufflepuff's prefect, while she waited on Bobby. We shortly left after I arrived. I wondered if Kara would be interested in switching partners.

Potter and I had said hello to each other, but when our walk began, there was no conversation. Topics rushed through my head for a few minutes, but every option held the possibility of disaster. I decided—for once—to keep my entirely sane, appropriate comments to myself in order to prevent Potter from saying something completely infuriating.

About ten minutes in, a voice from behind us said, "Oh, look who it is!" It was Peter, whose face was slightly shiny and his breaths were shallow, as if he was breathing hard. "I can't believe I ran into you two."

I made a face. "Well it's past curfew, Pettigrew, and we're doing our rounds."

"Right," he said, slightly bending over, unusually trying to catch his breath. "Rounds. A very important task."

Uh…

"What are you doing here, Pete?" said Potter through his clenched jaw, voicing my thoughts. "Where's Remus? Or Sirius?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Remus had homework," responded Peter with a significant look, "and Sirius was trying to convince Arielle Trintignant to play a hand of cards with him."

Potter sighed heavily before coughing in an attempt to disguise his emotions. I looked from Potter to Pettigrew.

Was Pettigrew there…_intentionally_? What are the odds that he simply happened to stumble upon us after hours? Then again, what are the odds that he was able to find us after we already left for rounds?

"Mind if I join you since I'm already here?"

I looked at Potter, but he avoided my gaze. He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. The whole thing was entirely too weird, that for a moment I wondered if Potter had asked one of his mates to join us on rounds so we wouldn't have to sit in silence and not hear our maybe-friendship crumble.

Even though it esd not true, I pretended it was. It made it easier to say yes to Pettrigrew's request and to look at Potter a little better.

The three of us walked down the hall in a minute of silence.

"Sooooo," said Pettigrew, drawing out the word as if hoping to find the rest of the sentence along the way, "what did you two think of the Herbology essay?"

I slapped a hand to my face. I think Potter pulled a chunk of his hair out. If Potter told his mate to show up, he should have at least given him a heads up about this afternoon.

"Bifflebushes are interesting, aren't they?" asked Peter. I don't think he handles silence well. "It was a bit of a complicated essay, but once you found all the research it didn't take that long. I started early, so hopefully I at least pass…"

"You started early, Peter?" I said. "Hmm…" Potter rolled his eyes, I'm sure of it. "That's so smart of you. Potter hasn't even started his yet."

"Pete's extraordinarily slow at everything, Evans." Pettigrew noisily protested Potter's claim. "Your ideas are only becoming more invalidated."

"I'm not slow," said Pettrigrew indignant.

"Yeah, Potter," I chimed in. "Pettigrew isn't slow. He's proactive."

Potter snorted. "Proactive? Yeah, right. Pete's got to start an essay a week in advance just to get an E. That's called being slow."

Peter glared at Potter, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "Do you know what else is slow?" He didn't wait for a response. "Your reflexes." Peter quickly flicked his wand at Potter's feet, and Potter stumbled as if Peter had stuck out his own foot. Potter flew forward, and while after a few unbalanced steps and flailing arm swings he caught his footing, his glasses slipped off his face and landed on the ground.

I stopped laughing. Potter picked up his glasses, which had a shattered lens. He silently prepared it. I wanted to tell Peter to run away while he still had the chance. Peter shifted awkwardly beside me, clasping his hands in front of him, then behind, then letting them hang at his side. "Prongs—" He stepped forward.

"About bloody time, Wormtail," said Potter with a grin slowly appearing. "We were worried we were going to have to send you back to second year if you didn't learn that spell soon."

Potter clapped his hand on Peter's back. He flinched just the slightest before allowing himself to smile. I began walking again, fearing that the boys were about to start something ugly.

"The spell was a little weak, frankly," continued Potter, "but I'm sure you're still recovering from when you flew into that tree. Head trauma is a very serious issue, you know."

I gasped. "You flew into a _tree_? On what?" What mad contraption had the boys been fooling with this summer?

Peter's face turned bright red, and he mumbled something under his breath. "Sorry?" Had he even spoken English?

"A broomstick," said Potter proudly, crossing his arms over his chest. "He shattered the broom, too."

He flew _himself_ into a tree? How embarrassing… I looked at Peter. Poor boy.

"Yeah, but, but-!" he sputtered indignantly. "You got thrown out of that Muggle pub when you hit on the girl who was only fourteen!"

I whipped my head to the other side. "Potter! That's disgusting."

"How was I supposed to know she was fourteen? Fourteen year olds don't wear what she was wearing. Let me tell you, Evans, she—" He paused and looked at my face. Is he serious? I don't want to hear his misplaced inappropriate thoughts about underage girls! What an idiot.

"Right, never mind."

"He even chipped his tooth when the pub owner tossed him on the ground," said Peter excitedly.

"Oi! Wormtail! Is nothing sacred anymore?" said Potter.

"_Your tooth?_" This was getting good. "Show me, Potter! Come on now, don't be shy." I tried to lean in and see the missing piece, but he jerked away from me.

"Knock it off, Evans," he said. Our feet continued to echo on the stone ground as we rounded another corner with no sign of students out past curfew. (With the exception of Peter. I very well couldn't give him a detention, though, could I? The poor bloke had enough troubles.)

(Merlin, he flew himself into a tree? And still managed to hit his head? What a nightmare.)

"I fixed it afterwards," continued Potter. "My teeth are as perfect as ever." He flashed me a grin and saved a rude hand gesture for Peter. That alone could have gotten him kicked out of the pub.

"Did you know Pettigrew tried to ask out Evelyn when we saw her in Diagon Alley?"

"Aw, Prongs, come on." I hope Peter's face returned to a normal color eventually, because it was the color of Bertie Bott's cinnamon flavored jellybean the whole time.

I nodded encouragingly at Potter. Sorry, Peter, but the Head Girl needs her gossip.

"Yep," said Potter, "but before he could get out the whole question—he said "Will you—?" about thirteen times—he ran away."

"Peter!" He groaned in response. No wonder he had refused to talk to any of the Ravenclaw girls so far.

"And while he was running away, he slammed into an owl cage, which knocked down more owl cages until there were a dozen owls flailing around in the middle of Diagon Alley."

"Merlin…" See? Enough troubles.

"What would you say was the worst part, Pete?" said Potter with a not unkind grin.

Peter shrugged. "Probably when you had to pay for all the owls and cages since I didn't have enough money on me."

Potter nodded. "Good one, but I was going to say when a few of the birds broke free and flew away, and that fat brown own defecated on Evelyn's head."

My loud gasp quickly turned into a laugh. I would have given my entire vault to see this in person!

"Nah." Peter shrugged. "I quite liked that, since Evelyn laughed at me after my third 'Will you?' Ruddy bird was just trying to help a bloke feel better." Potter roared with laughter, and Peter joined in, his bright red face returning to its usual cream color.

So the night continued with the exchange of the most ridiculous things the boys had done this summer. Even better was when they decided to work together to come up with the absurd things Remus had done. Sweet, kind Remus actually turns out to be a regular fool and an obnoxious drunk. You learn something new every day, I guess.

Potter is actually an even bigger idiot than I predicted. If only he acted half as mad at school as he has with his mates… For whatever reason Peter stumbled upon us, it actually led to the best patrol we have had before. That's hardly a surprise, though. What better way to spend the night than laughing with James Potter at the complete stupidity of James Potter?

* * *

><p><strong>I will do my very, very best to get the next chapter out asap! In the meantime, please review, fav, and follow! Constructive criticism and feedback welcome!<strong>

**In the meantime, have a hp movie marathon because tbh I think I already need one from the stress of school. Thanks for reading this chapter!**

**MG **


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